“Hold it right there. I’ve got a gun and I’m not afraid to use it.”

Kody raised his arms in the air, then turned to locate the source of danger. He almost chuckled at the sight before him. A thin, brown-haired woman, eyes steady, mouth set in a hard line. She held a rifle almost as long as she was tall.

“You ain’t gonna shoot me.”

“Back off or you’ll see what I mean to do,” she said.

Kody took one swift step forward and plucked the rifle from her. He cracked it open to eject the bullet. The chamber was empty. “Lady, you sure got guts.”

“This is my house. Get out.”

She lived here? In a deserted house? Alone?

“Your house, huh?”

“My brother’s. I’m watching it for him.”

“Don’t look like it needs much watching.” The room was about as bare as the miles of windswept fields he’d ridden by. It didn’t take a lot of looking to see the place was vacant. Except for this woman. “What’s anyone going to take?”

MILLS & BOON

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LINDA FORD

shares her life with her rancher husband, a grown son, a live-in client she provides care for and a yappy parrot. She and her husband raised a family of fourteen children, ten adopted, providing her with plenty of opportunity to experience God’s love and faithfulness. They had their share of adventures as well. Taking twelve kids in a motorhome on a three-thousand-mile road trip would be high on the list. They live in Alberta, Canada, close enough to the Rockies to admire them every day. She enjoys writing stories that reveal God’s wondrous love through the lives of her characters.

Linda enjoys hearing from readers. Contact her at linda@lindaford.org or check out her Web site at www.lindaford.org, where you can also catch her blog, which often carries glimpses of both her writing activities and family life.

Linda Ford
The Journey Home

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Preserve me, O God, for in thee do I put my trust.

—Psalms 16:1

This book would not be what it is without the help of several key people:

First, my editor, Melissa, who saw what it needed.

Thank you for your guidance and encouragement.

And then two very dear critique partners who listen to me whine and still find ways to point out what I’m doing right and where I should reconsider my direction. To Debbie and Carolyne, thank you both for your continued support, your friendship and your helpful suggestions. If I dedicate every book to you it’s because I couldn’t do it without you.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Epilogue

Questions for Discussion

Chapter One

South Dakota, 1934

He didn’t know why God answered his prayers any more than he could explain why he still said them. But there it stood, the protection he’d moments ago begged God to provide, an old farmhouse, once proud, now with bare windows and a door hanging by one hinge. Deserted by the owners, as were so many places in the drought-stricken plains. The crash of ’29 had left hundreds floundering financially. And years of too little rain resulted in numerous farms abandoned to the elements. He didn’t hold out much hope of 1934 being any different.

Kody Douglas glanced upward. The black cloud towering high into the sky thundered toward him. An eerie yellow light filled the air. A noisy herald of birds flew ahead of the storm. Kody ducked his head against the stinging wind and nudged Sam into a trot. They’d better get inside before the dust storm engulfed them.

In front of the house, he leaped from the saddle, led Sam across the worn threshold and dropped the reins to the floor. Sam would remain where he was parked until Kody said otherwise, but still he felt compelled to make it clear. “You stay here, horse. And don’t go leaving me any road apples. You can wait to do that business outside.”

He grabbed the rattling door and pushed it shut. A hook hung from the frame. The eye remained in the door, and he latched it.

“Probably won’t hold once the wind hits,” he told his ever patient mount and companion. Man got so he talked to the only living, breathing thing he shared his day with.

Kody snorted. You’d think a man would get used to being alone. Seems he never could. Not that he cared a whole lot for the kind of company he encountered on the trail. Scoundrels and drifters willing to lift anything not tied down. Kody might be considered a drifter, but he’d never stoop to being a scoundrel. He had his standards.

He yanked off his hat and slapped it against his thigh, creating his own private cloud of dust. He jammed the hat back on his head and glanced around. Place couldn’t have stood empty for long. No banks of dirt in the corners or bird droppings on the floor. The windows were even still intact.

The wind roared around the house. Sam tossed his head as the door banged in its crooked, uncertain state. Already the invading brown dust sifted across the linoleum. The air grew thick with it. The loose door wouldn’t offer more than halfhearted protection, and Kody scanned the rest of the house, searching for something better.

“Don’t go anywhere without me,” he told Sam as he strode through the passageway into a second room. The drifting soil crunched under his boots.

Again, God provided more than he asked and certainly more than he deserved. A solid door stood closed on the interior wall to his right. He could shelter there until the duster passed. He yanked open the door.

“Hold it right there, mister. I’ve got a gun and I’m not afraid to use it,” a voice cracked.

Kody’s heart leaped to his throat and clutched at his tonsils. His nerves danced along his skin with sharp heels. Instinctively he raised his arms in the air, then slowly, cautiously, turned to locate the source of danger. He almost chuckled at the sight before him. A thin, brown-haired woman pressed into the corner, eyes steady, mouth set in a hard line. She held a rifle almost as long as she was tall.

The upward flight of his arms slowed and began a gradual descent. “You ain’t gonna shoot me.” It was about more’n she could do to keep the rifle level. The business end wobbled like one of those suffering trees in the wind outside.

“Back off or you’ll see soon enough what I mean to do.”

He lowered his right arm a few more inches, at the same time taking one swift step forward.

She gasped as he plucked the rifle from her.

He cracked it open to eject the bullet. The chamber was empty. He roared with laughter. “Lady, you got more guts than a cat stealing from a mother bear.” Amusement made his words feel round and pleasant in his mouth. Unfamiliar, even. It’d been a long time since he’d done more than growl his words. He pulled his gaze from the woman who triggered the amusement, knowing his keen look made her uncomfortable.

She jutted out her chin. “This is my house. Get out.”

She lived here? In this deserted house? Alone?

He stilled the questions pouring to his thoughts to deal with the immediate concern. “I don’t intend to go out in a blinding dust storm. And no God-fearing, decent woman would expect me to.”

She swallowed his accusation noisily. But nothing in her posture relented from her fierce protectiveness.

“I mean you no harm.” Without seeking her permission, he sauntered to the corner farthest away, leaving her to plot her own actions. He made like he didn’t care what she did, though his every nerve danced with alertness. Might be she had a hunk of wood hid beneath her skirts and would sneak up on him and smack him hard enough to give him a headache to regret. He didn’t much figure she could overpower him even with a weighty length of two-by-four. He held back a heartfelt chuckle. Gotta admire a woman with so much spunk.

He heard her slight hiss and from the corner of his eyes saw her take a faltering step toward the door, maybe more intent on escape than anything.

The wind shook the house. The light faded. Through the window he watched the black cloud envelop them. Dust billowed through the cracks around the frame. They needed something to cover the window. In the dim light he made out a pile of material on the floor and, ignoring the woman’s indrawn breath, went over to investigate. A ragged quilt. “Why don’t you have this over the window? It might keep out some of the dirt.”

“What a wonderful idea. I should have thought of it myself.” Her sarcasm nearly melted the paint off the wall.

He snorted. “That is a most uncharitable attitude.”

She put a rag to her nose. “How do you suggest I get it to stay there? Or do you propose to hold it in place?”

“Ma’am, where there’s a will there’s a way.” What a sharp-tongued young woman. He held the quilt to the window. It greatly reduced the amount of dust coming through the cracks. A nail at one corner served as a hook. He felt around but could find no nail on the other corner. He pulled at the frame. It fit too tightly to allow him to stuff the material behind it. He stood with his arms over his head feeling as exposed as a deer in the middle of a bare field. And he was about to put himself into an even more vulnerable position. “You happen to have a fork or knife handy I could jab in behind the frame and hold this in place?”

She crossed the room and handed him a nail. “It fell out and I couldn’t get it back in.”

The quilt darkened the room, but even in the dim light he immediately saw her problem. She barely came up to his armpit. She’d need something to stand on to reach the top of the window. She probably needed a stool to brush her teeth. He grinned at his silly imagination and plucked the nail from her fingers. But how to drive it in? “Hold this.”

He scooted over to make room for her. She lifted her arms and pressed the quilt as high as her short stature allowed. He felt around the window until he found a crack between the frame and the wall and wedged the nail in as firmly as he could. He caught a corner of the quilt over it and stepped back. “That should do.”

“Thank you,” she muttered as she headed back to the corner.

He chuckled. She sounded about as grateful as if he’d handed her a bucket of sand. He returned to the opposite side of the room and hunkered down.

“Your house, hey?”

“My brother’s. I’m watching it for him.”

“Don’t look like it needs much watching.” The room was about as bare as the mile after mile of windswept fields he’d ridden by. It didn’t take a lot of looking to see the place was vacant. Except for this woman. “What’s anyone going to take?”

She made a sound that could have been anger or a signal of her intent to argue, but the storm increased in ferociousness. She ducked her head instead.

He pressed his hankie to his nose and prepared to wait it out.

Charlotte huddled into the corner. He’d accused her of being uncharitable. Her own thoughts rebuked her for being sharp-tongued. Normally she was neither, but her patience had worn thin, and her fears fueled by unexpected, unfair circumstances. Her faith had been sorely tested of late. Tested but not abandoned. What else did she have left but her trust in God?

Our Father, who art in heaven…She closed her eyes and silently repeated the words, mentally squeezing each for strength, determined to think of nothing but God’s love and power.

But a dust storm raged outside, sifting fine particles of dirt through the air, threatening to dry-drown her, and inside sat a strange man. Her nerves twitched with anxiety greater than she’d known even on her first night alone in the empty house.

And not just any man. An Indian, complete with braids and a feather dangling from his cowboy hat.

I will not fear. God is with me. He will never forsake me.

The words had become her daily supplication since she’d walked into the house and found it empty—her brother, Harry, her sister-in-law, Nellie, and the two children had disappeared.

She’d been at the Hendersons’ with instructions from Nellie to help with the new baby. Upon her return she discovered them gone—lock, stock and kitchen supplies—and a note from Harry saying he couldn’t take the drought any longer. They were going farther west. No room in the truck for her. He’d send for her soon, within a week for sure. He’d arrange for Mr. Henderson to deliver a message.

They’d left barely enough food and water to last her.

“God will take care of me,” she murmured.

The frightening man turned. “You say something?”

“God will take care of me.” She spoke louder, firmer. After all, He’d led the children of Israel through the desert. Her situation wasn’t any worse. Except she was alone. No, not alone. God was with her. So she had reminded herself over and over.

The house shook under the wind’s attack. Dirt ground between her teeth. Her throat tickled. She breathed slowly to stop the urge to cough. She longed for a drink. Her last drink had been some unsatisfying mouthfuls this morning. The only place she could get more was at Lother’s. She shuddered just thinking of her nearest neighbor.

Eligible young men were scarce as rain. Most had gone looking for work. Seemed wherever they went jobs were hard to come by. She saw them riding the rails every time she was in town, going from one end of the country to the other. Lother, one of the few bachelors still in the community, made it clear he’d be glad to marry Charlotte. He seemed to think she’d be equally pleased to accept the opportunity. If she had to choose between marriage to Lother or rotting on the manure pile, she’d gladly choose the latter. She shuddered again, harder.

“It will doubtless end soon.”

Did he think she worried about the storm? That happened to be the least of her current concerns. “You can be certain? I heard tell they had a three-day duster over toward Bentley.”

“Yeah, but it ended, didn’t it? Even the flood ended eventually.”

Despite her mental turmoil, she laughed. “I guess we should be grateful we haven’t had a forty-day duster.”

The wind increased in velocity.

The man raised his voice. “I sat by a railway track once while a train went by. Never figured wind could make more noise, but it does.”

The roar made conversation impossible.

She hunkered down, prepared to wait out the storm. Just like she’d been waiting for Harry’s message. Was she destined to spend her life waiting for one thing or another?

Kody glanced toward the woman. She sat with a rag of some sort pressed to her face. Above the gray cloth her eyes regarded him with wariness. Or was it determination? He guessed both. She’d already shown she had plenty of grit.

The wind grew louder. The room darkened like the dead of night. He buried his face against his knees and waited. Could be the storm would end soon, or not. No predicting the nature of nature. He smiled into his handkerchief. Ma would chuckle at his choice of words. Suddenly in the noisy gloom, he missed his mother and father, even though he knew they were better off with him out of the picture. Nor were they the only ones to benefit from his departure. He pushed aside the forbidden memory.

The woman opposite him coughed. Not a tickling sort of cough relieved with a clearing-your-throat kind of sound, but a dry cough that went on and on. He held his breath, waiting for it to end. She stopped and he let out a gust of relief. It was short-lived as she began again.

Poor woman needed some water to wash down the dust.

He slid across the floor until his elbow encountered the warm flesh of her arm, vibrating from her coughs. “Here, have a drink.” He offered her the canteen he’d grabbed out of habit, having learned never to wait out a dust storm without water nearby to wash his throat.

She latched on to the canteen, lifted it to her mouth and drank greedily. For a fearful moment he thought she’d drain the contents. Not that it was a matter of life and death. He’d refill it from her well as soon as the storm ended. But nevertheless he swallowed hard. A duster could make a man mighty thirsty.

She capped the canteen and handed it back. “Thank you.”

He stayed where he was and again buried his face in his handkerchief and let his thoughts drift back to Favor, South Dakota, where he’d been born and raised and where the only parents he’d ever known still lived. He didn’t want to think about all he’d left behind. Better to think about this woman huddled in the corner.

He turned his head a fraction, still protecting his face but making it possible to talk. “What’s your name, ma’am?”

“What’s yours?”

He chuckled. Got to admire a woman who showed no fear even in this awkward and potentially threatening situation. He knew many men who would take advantage of his position—alone with an unprotected woman. “Ma’am, my name is Kody Douglas. My father is a preacher man and I’ve been raised to be honorable and God-fearing.” The “raised” part was true. Never mind he no longer had the faith he’d been raised with. Not that he could explain what he now believed. God’s love had become so mixed up in his soul with man’s unloving behavior he didn’t know how to separate the two.

She uttered a sound full of disbelief.

He wasn’t surprised. All his life he’d encountered the same reaction. As if a man like him could have a father like his, a home like his, a faith like he’d once had. For most people it defied explanation.

He hunkered down over his knees, preparing to ignore the woman. No doubt she likewise wished to ignore him. Besides, there was no reason to strike up a conversation. He’d be gone as soon as the storm ended. They’d never see each other again in this life or the one to come. That idea gave him pause. “You a believer?” he asked, even though he’d just told himself conversation was unnecessary.

“In God?”

He grunted affirmation.

“Most certainly I am. I have been since I was a child at my mother’s knee. In fact, He has been my strength and help all my life. He will continue to take care of me.”

Kody wondered at the way she said the words. As if she expected him to argue. “Got no cause to disagree.” God did seem to favor the likes of her, but Kody figured God regretted making the likes of him.

“My name is Charlotte Porter.”

He thought of shaking her hand but refrained. He didn’t want to put her in the position of having to choose whether or not to accept his offer nor did he want to shift his position and allow any more dirt to invade. Dust covered every bit of exposed skin, filling his pores until he envied the fish of the sea. He might head west to the ocean and sit in the water until he shriveled up like an old man just for the pleasure of having clean skin if he hadn’t already decided to ride north into Canada and keep riding until he got to uninhabited land.

He settled for acknowledging her introduction with the proper words, though she perhaps expected nothing more than a grunt. “Pleased to meet you.”

“You from round here?”

He guessed she felt the need of conversation more than he did. At least he wanted to believe so. Again he told himself a man should get used to being alone and sharing his thoughts with a faithful horse. “Not so’s you’d notice.” There was nothing about his past he wanted to share with this woman or anyone else on the face of the earth, and nothing about his future that held significance for anyone but himself.

“Where are you headed?”

“Just following my nose.”

“Mr. Douglas, are you being purposely evasive?”

He chuckled. “Maybe I am. You might say it’s a habit of mine.” Seemed no need to refuse the woman the information she sought. “I’m from Favor, South Dakota.”

“I never heard of an Indian preacher man.” Her voice was muffled.

“I ain’t no preacher man.” He jerked his eyes open, felt the sting of dust and closed them again.

“I mean your father.”

He kept his handkerchief to his mouth, guessed she kept her eyes closed, too, so she couldn’t see his smile. “My father is a white man.”

She twitched. “But—”

“My mother is white, too. Kind of defies explanation, doesn’t it?” He squinted at her, saw her regarding him through narrowed eyes.

“That’s impossible.”

He laughed, liking the way her eyes momentarily widened, then as quickly narrowed against the dust.

“Not if I’m adopted. Besides, my real mother is white. My father…” He paused. “One look at me is all it takes to know he was Indian.”

“Adopted? Well, that explains it, doesn’t it?”

Her voice said so much more than her words. As if it mattered about as much as fly sweat. As if he was already gone and forgotten. He settled back into his own thoughts, not sure he liked the way she silently dismissed him. Didn’t she have any particular opinion about his heritage, the unnaturalness of being raised white while looking native? Everyone else seemed to.

He wrenched his thoughts to more practical matters.

Had the light increased? Surely the wind roared with less vehemence. “It’s letting up.”

“Thank God. If this is the last duster I ever see, I would be eternally grateful.”

“You and thousands of others.”

Neither of them moved—gray dust particles in the air would fill their eyes and nose and lungs. No, they had to wait a bit longer. Kody glanced around the room, taking in more details. The only thing in the room was a bundled-up mattress in the corner.

“Why did your brother leave you here alone?”

“Who says I’m alone?”

He laughed. “I mean apart from me and my horse.”

“I didn’t mean you.”

Again he laughed. This woman amazed him. Did she truly think he’d look around, see a virtually abandoned home and think she had a passel of brothers or sons or a husband to protect her? “What kind of brother leaves his sister alone?”

She studied him with narrow-eyed concentration. Weak light poked around the quilt at the window, but it didn’t take morning sun on her face for him to know she resented his questions. But he couldn’t dismiss his concern. Why would her brother leave her here alone? It didn’t seem natural. For sure it wasn’t safe. He wasn’t the only man wandering about the countryside. Hundreds of them rode the rails every day looking for work or avoiding the realities of the Depression. Work was scarce. Pay even scarcer. He’d been trying for months to earn enough money to buy himself an outfit to start new in the North. He’d managed to save a few dollars. A few more and he’d be on his way.

“He’s coming for me.” She kept her face buried in her hands, the rag muffling her words. “Real soon.”

“Until then you’re here alone.”

“I am not alone. God is with me. He has promised to be with me always.”

Her words sifted through his thoughts, trickled down his nerves and pooled in his heart like something warm and alive. “I used to believe that.”

“It’s still true whether or not you believe it.”

He laughed softly into his hands at the solid assurance in her voice. Could she really be so convinced? He stole a look at her. She regarded him. He wished he could see her mouth. Would it be all pruned up sourlike, or flat with determination?

She lowered her hand to speak and his eyes widened in surprise at the faint smile curving her lips. “One thing I know about God is He is unchanging. He doesn’t have moods or regret or uncertainty as we often do.” She turned enough to see the window and seemed to look right through the quilt and see something special beyond the fabric and glass. “‘Fear not: for I have redeemed thee, I have called thee by thy name; thou art mine. When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee: when thou walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be burned; neither shall the flame kindle thee.’”

His heart burned within him. Had he not heard the words from his parents’ lips time and again? I have called thee by name. Thou art mine. Yet somehow they sounded more convincing coming from this woman. He almost believed them.

Chapter Two

The man scrambled to his feet. Charlotte stood, as well, feeling as if every pore held a spoonful of irritating sandy dirt. Oh, for a good bath. Oh, for a quenching drink of water. For three days she’d metered out the last drops of her supply. Apart from a few swallows this morning, she’d had only the warm drink from the man’s canteen.

She swiped at her hair, scrubbed the dirty rag over her face, shook her skirts and coughed.

The man slapped his hat against his leg and filled the air with a swirl of dust. She coughed again.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “I should have waited until I was outside.”

Charlotte threw open the door and choked on the thick air. The floor lay buried in several inches of dirt. The outside door must have ripped from its hinges. She closed the solid wood, blocking her only escape route. “Person can’t breathe out there yet.”

She kept her face toward the knob, thought of ushering the man out to his destiny. But his remark about the charity of a Christian woman still echoed in her head. She’d give him a few more minutes, then she’d rush him on his way. Presuming he’d allow her to rush him. If he didn’t…No point in threatening him with the rifle. Anger scalded her throat. If Harry had had the decency to leave her a bullet or two, she’d have had no trouble getting rid of the man in the first place.

Maybe she could appeal to his decency. After all, his parents were white folk and religious, so surely the man had been raised to know right from wrong. Of course the same could be said about a lot of men who nevertheless chose wrong. The thought erased every vestige of calmness.

She heard him move about the room and stiffened as he approached her bedroll. Harry and Nellie had left her bedding and enough food for a week. How very kind of them.

“Where are you headed from here, Mr. Douglas?” She hoped he’d hear the urgent suggestion in her words.

“Kody, if you please. I’m going wherever I can find work.”

She ignored his suggestion she call him Kody. Father or son, made never mind to her. He’d soon be riding the tail of the wind out of her house and out of her life. Couldn’t be too soon to suit her. “I expect you’ll have to ride some to find work. It’s mighty scarce around here. Lots of folks pulling up stakes and moving on.”

“My sentiments exactly. It’s an unfriendly country in my opinion.”

At the harshness of his voice, she turned to study him. The typical angular high cheekbones, lips pulled into a hard, unyielding line that spoke of determination. “I take it you’ve been as disappointed in life as many of the folks around here.” Harry and Nellie among them.

He faced her full on, his black eyes steady as if measuring her.

She met his gaze, knew they both had secrets bringing them to this place, this time and this house. She believed God cared for her, controlled every aspect of her life. Didn’t the Scripture say all the days of her life were written before one of them came to be? But right now she struggled to believe it. How could God have planned for the country to blow from county to county? For Harry to abandon her? For a half-breed to be in her house? But she was being overly dramatic. Harry would send for her as he’d promised. He’d taken care of her since she was ten and their mother grew too ill to manage on her own. He’d provided her with a safe home since Mother died, as he’d sworn he would—apart from that time Nellie had demanded she be sent away. Charlotte shuddered. She would never forget her subsequent ordeal at the Appleby home.

Anxious to escape the past as much as the present, she opened the door again, breathing shallowly as she picked her way over the dirt on the floor.

Mr. Douglas followed close on her heels, whistling when he saw the damage in the front room. “Looks like your brother could plant a garden in here.”

She ignored his comment. Her brother wouldn’t be planting a garden anywhere near this house. And God willing, she’d shake off the dust of the place this very afternoon and be on her way to join him. Out of habit and desperation, she went to the window to see if Mr. Henderson rode her way with the promised letter from Harry. But she saw only the changed landscape—mounds of dirt in new places, fields scraped clean in others. A desolate, angry scene.

“Lady, could you point me to your well? I’d like to wash this storm off my face and refill my canteen.”

She turned away from the hopeless view. His face looked as if he’d scrubbed in garden soil. She touched her cheeks, guessing she looked no better. “Well’s out there.” She pointed to the little shack Harry had built to store tools in.

Kody tromped into the kitchen.

Charlotte followed and screamed as she came face-to-face with a paint horse.

“This is Sam,” Kody said. “He won’t hurt you.”

“You brought your horse into my house?” She sniffed. “Phew. He’s stunk up the place like a barn.”

Kody shook his head. “Sam, I told you not to do that in here.”

The horse whinnied.

Charlotte thought the sound as unbelieving as her thoughts. “A horse answers the call of nature without regard to his surroundings.”

“I’ll clean it up.”

“You certainly will.” And she’d scoop out the dirt with the only tools Harry had left her—a tin can and a big spoon.

Kody grabbed the empty bucket from the old worktable left behind because it was nailed to the wall. He headed for the well. He had the decency to lead his horse outside with him and kick out the pile of manure as he left.

Charlotte stood at the door, praying for a miracle. God had brought water from a rock for His children in the desert. Didn’t seem like water from the well ought to be any different. And while He was providing miracles, maybe He could see fit to send a message from Harry and something to send Mr. Douglas hightailing it out of here.

Kody walked with a combination of roll and stride. He grabbed the handle and pumped up and down. The squealing protest caused Sam to sidle away and whinny. After several unproductive pumps, Kody called, “Well appears to be dry.”

Charlotte sighed. Hoping against hope proved futile yet again. She couldn’t imagine what lesson God meant for her to learn. “I know.”

He sauntered over. “Been dry long?”

She shrugged. He didn’t need to know the particulars, but they’d been going to Lother’s for water for several months.

Kody shook the bone-dry pail. “Where was your brother getting water?”

Charlotte stared across the pasture indicating a well-worn path. In the distance she could make out the chimney, the roof of the barn and the lifesaving windmill. “Lother Gross has been kind enough to let us use his well.”

Kody touched his cheek with a brown finger. “I’d like to wash and refill my canteen.” He waited, perhaps expecting her to lead the way.

Why couldn’t the man take a hint? Desperately she sought for a way to persuade him to leave. The gun was out unless she used it as a club, and she didn’t much fancy the idea of attacking him, knew she didn’t stand a chance against his size and strength. She looked about the kitchen, hoping for some solution, finding nothing but emptiness and disappointment. Feeling his patient waiting, she sighed and turned back to face him.

“You could go across to the neighbor’s and get water.” She nodded toward Lother’s place. “I’ll stay here and tidy up a bit.” If he got so much as halfway across the pasture, she’d figure out some way to bar the broken door.

Kody’s eyes narrowed.

She crossed her arms over her chest as if she hoped to protect her thoughts from his piercing gaze.

The man looked at the empty bucket, gave a long, considering study of the useless pump, then stared across the pasture. “How long you been out of water?” he asked, his voice soft but knowing.

Again she shrugged. Her problems were no concern of his.

He nodded toward the path. “Why don’t you go get some?”

Her stomach lurched toward her heart, making her swallow hard to control the way her fear mixed with nausea. She didn’t want Lother to know she was alone and had waited until dark two nights ago to slip over. She reasoned she could fill a pail and hurry away without detection. But his dog set up a din fit to wake the dead. Charlotte had tried to calm him. “It’s me. You know me.” She’d kept her voice low, but the dog wouldn’t let up. Coming around after dark was a strange occurrence, not acceptable to the dog’s sense of guard duty.

Charlotte had been forced to retreat without water in order to avoid being confronted by Lother.

“How long you been here alone?”

She pressed her lips together and jutted out her chin.

Kody adjusted his black cowboy hat and leaned back on worn cowboy boots. His gray shirt, laced at the neck, had seen better days. His pants were equally shabby. “Why ain’t you walked out of this place?” He shook his head. “I don’t get it. You’ve got the guts to face me with an empty gun, yet you hide in this derelict house without water.”

How dare he? “What gives you the right—”

“Lady, despite the color of my skin—”

Which, Charlotte thought, had nothing to do with this whole conversation.

He continued in the same vein. “And the uncertainty of my heritage—”

One certainty he’d overlooked: this was none of his business. “I don’t recall asking for your help,” she said.

“I’ve been raised to care about the welfare of others.”

That stumped her. How could she argue with something she also believed?

He continued. “You’re out of water. And you’re alone. It just plain ain’t safe for a woman to be alone with so many drifters around.”

“My brother is sending for me to join him.”

“So you’re going to sit here and wait?”

Why did he goad her? His words edged past her patience, her faith that Harry would indeed send for her, and dug cruel, angry fingers into her spine. “No, I’m not waiting.” Why had she sat here for a whole week expecting the Hendersons to deliver a message? She spun on her heel and marched back to the dusty bedroom, threw her few things into the old carpetbag Nellie had left in the closet and rolled up the little bit of bedding. She stomped from the room, paused and grabbed the rifle. Not much good to her, but she’d return it to Harry, and when she did, she’d let him feel the sharp edge of her tongue for leaving her in such a position. Of course, she wouldn’t. She wouldn’t risk making him regret opening his home to her.

Ignoring the crunch of dirt under her shoes, she hurried out the door, gave one goodbye glance over her shoulder at the interior of the house and headed down the road. There was nothing for her here and no reason to stay. Besides, surely the Hendersons had a message by now and simply hadn’t had time to deliver it.

Kody trailed after her.

She paused to glower at him. “Why are you following me?”

“Just wondering where you’re going.”

“To the neighbor. They might have a message from my brother, though I fail to see how it’s any of your concern.”

“I’ll see you to this neighbor. My ma would have my hide if I didn’t make sure you were safe.” He pushed his hat farther back on his head and nodded as if she’d agreed.

“I’m quite capable of looking after myself. I don’t need you keeping an eye on me. Go away.” She steamed down the road, dragging her bundles and the rifle.

“I’m going the same direction. Why don’t you let me put your things on Sam?”

She stubbornly plowed onward. When he sighed and fell in step with her, she paused. “Seems a shame to be wasting your time. You might find a job if you hurry to town.”

“I ain’t leaving you until I know you’re safe. Ma would have my—”

“She’d have your hide. So you said.”

“Are you always so contrary?”

“I’m the most compliant of persons.” Except right now. “Normally.”

“So it’s just me.”

“Yup. Now why don’t you get on your horse and ride away?” She had never been sharp with anyone in her life, but this man prodded her the wrong way. “Sorry for being rude,” she mumbled.

“I’m used to it.”

Although he said this in a mild way, his words stopped her in her tracks and she turned to stare at him. His dark eyes gave nothing away. Nor did his blank expression, but she understood he meant he faced unkind comments because of his race.

“Huh,” she finally said, unwilling to point out that not everyone felt the same way. She couldn’t say how she felt about the man, but it had nothing to do with his race and everything to do with the way he got under her skin like a long, unyielding sliver. She hurried on, not surprised when he walked beside her.

“How far to this neighbor?”

“The Hendersons. Three miles. Big Rock is a few miles farther.” She hoped the suggestion he might like to hurry in that direction would be clear.

“Yup.”

The weight of the bag made her shoulder ache. The bedroll kept slipping from her arms and the rifle banged against her shins, but she paid them scant attention. She was used to working hard without complaining.

Kody caught the bedroll just as it threatened to escape her grasp.

“That’s mine,” she protested.

“So it is.” He tied it to the saddle and reached for the rifle.

“That’s Harry’s and I intend to see he gets it back.”

“Harry would be your brother?”

“Of course.”

“Well, when you give it back, I suggest you do it like this.” He waved the gun as if hitting someone with it, then rubbed his head, moaning.

Despite the fact she didn’t want Kody to tie her meager belongings to the saddle, despite the fact she didn’t want him accompanying her, she laughed because his action so accurately echoed her sentiments. Though she would never do it. No. She’d hand the gun to him meekly and promise to work hard and not argue with Nellie. She’d done so over and over just to make sure Harry wouldn’t send her away. Like he’d done when she was twelve. How grateful she’d been when he took her back. Only with Harry did she have a safe place.

Remembering sucked away the last drops of anger, so when Kody reached for the carpetbag, she handed it to him without argument. And submissively followed him down the road.

A few minutes later, Charlotte pointed to the low house. “The Hendersons’.” They paused at the turnoff. She reached for her things. “Thank you for your company.”

Kody touched the brim of his hat and gave a slight nod. “My pleasure.”

She wondered if he mocked her. She shrugged. What did it matter? She marched to the door and knocked. Mr. Henderson opened. Mrs. Henderson stood at his shoulder, holding the new baby. “I’ve come to see if there’s any word from Harry.”

Two older people stood by, watching curiously. The three other children eyed Charlotte.

“No, nothing. I would have ridden over if I heard anything. Haven’t been to town for a couple of days. Not since I picked up my folks. They’ve come to help.”

“Perhaps I could wait here.” She knew as soon as she spoke it wasn’t possible. They must be crowded to the rafters already. “Never mind. I’ll go to town and see if there’s a message waiting.” Please, God, let there be some word. Her silent prayer grew urgent. What would she do if there wasn’t?

Chapter Three

Kody waited at the side of the road. He didn’t really want to help her, but if he ever saw Ma again he wanted to be able to face her without any guilty deed to hide. She’d raised him to see and respond to the needs of others. He only wished others had been taught the same and saw past his heritage to his heart. But it no longer mattered. He had a destination—northern Canada. He’d heard a man could get cheap land without the uncertain benefit of neighbors. It sounded like his kind of place.

He settled back out of sight behind a low drift of soil and watched as Charlotte made her way to the door and knocked.

A young man and woman opened to her. Kody strained but couldn’t make out any words until the man nodded. “Certainly there might be something by now. I’m sorry I can’t take you.”

Charlotte murmured a reply, then turned and plodded back to the road. “We can fill the canteen and clean up.”

He handed it to her. “You go ahead. I’ll wait here.”

“I thought you were anxious to wash.”

He studied the house, the door now closed. “Your friends won’t understand your keeping company with me.”

“I’m not keeping company with anyone.”

He didn’t make a move toward the nearby water trough.

“They do understand the need for water.”

Sam whinnied and nudged Kody. He could ignore his own thirst, but it hardly seemed fair to deprive Sam of a drink. “Lead on,” he murmured, a sense of exposure causing him to put the horse between him and the windows of the house.

They both washed, then Kody pumped fresh water for them to drink. He filled the canteen and waited as Sam drank his fill.

Charlotte wiped the back of her hand across her mouth and smoothed her damp hair off her face. “I’m going on to town. Harry must have sent word by now.” She hitched the rifle over her shoulder, tried to tuck the unwieldy bedroll under one arm as she struggled to carry the bulky bag in the other. Then she resolutely headed down the road.

Knowing he had to do what Ma would consider the right thing, Kody fell in beside her. “How far is it, did you say?”

“Didn’t.” She paused. “Five miles.”

He swallowed a groan. He wasn’t used to walking and had already used his feet for three miles while Sam plodded along with an empty saddle. “Seems a shame for Sam to be doing nothing.”

“No need for you to go out of your way.”

“I hadn’t planned on going to Big Rock. Hadn’t not planned it, either. I’m only passing through on the way to something better. Picking up work where I can find it on my way north.”

“What’s up north?”

“Canada and a new life.” As soon as he earned some more money he’d be ready to start over. “Hear you can find places where you never see another soul for months at a time.”

“I’m here to tell you it can get might lonely not seeing another person.” She shot him a look so full of disgust he chuckled.

He understood her response to being alone differed vastly from his own reasons for wanting it, so he didn’t say anything.

They walked onward a few steps.

“Seems a shame for Sam to be doing nothing.”

“No one asked you to accompany me. Get on and ride for Canada.”

He snorted. “My ma would give me a real dressing-down if she heard I’d done such an ungentlemanly thing.”

“Your ma isn’t going to know, now is she?”

“You can never be sure.” His voice rang with a mixture of regret and pride.

She laughed. The sound made his insides happy. “I’ve heard of mothers having eyes in the back of their heads,” she said. “But this is the first time I heard someone suspect their mother of having long-distance sight.”

He smiled, liking how it eased his mind. He’d gotten too used to scowling. “It ain’t so much she’ll see me do something, but if I ever see her again, she’ll see it in my eyes.” He’d never been able to fool Ma. She seemed to see clear through him. Which was one more reason to stay away from Favor, and Ma and Pa and all that lay in that direction.

Charlotte stopped and considered him. “Do you know how fortunate you are to have such a mother? If I had such a mother I’d never leave her. What are you doing going to Canada to be alone?”

“I have my reasons. Now save me from my mother’s displeasure and ride Sam to town.”

She studied him for a long moment. His skin tightened at the way she looked at him. He saw the fear and caution in her eyes, knew she saw him as a redskin, someone to avoid.

With a hitch of one shoulder to persuade the rifle to stay in place, she turned her steps back down the road.

He’d met this kind of resistance before and sighed loudly enough for her to pause. “My horse ain’t Indian. Or half-breed.”

Her shoulders pulled up inside her faded brown dress. He could practically see her vibrate, but didn’t know if from anger or fear or something else. She let her bag droop to her feet and turned to face him. The sky lightened, with the brassy sun poking through the remnants of the dust storm, and he saw her eyes were light brown.

“Are you accusing me of prejudice?” she demanded, her voice soft, her eyes flashing with challenge as if daring him to think it, let alone say it.

Could she really be free of such? His heart reared and bucked as long-buried hopes and dreams came to life—acceptance, belonging, so many things. He shoved them away, barricaded them from his thoughts. Best he be remembering who he was, how others saw him. “Nope. Just stating a fact.”

“I couldn’t care less if your horse is Indian, black, pink or stubborn as a mule. I prefer to walk.” She spun around and marched down the road, sidling sideways to capture the escaping bedroll with her hip.

He grinned at her attempts to manage her belongings. For a moment he stared after her. She said words of acceptance, but he doubted she meant them as anything more than argumentative.

He followed, leading Sam. “He ain’t stubborn.”

“How nice for you.” She continued, unconcerned by the wind tugging at her skirt and dragging her coppery-brown hair back from her forehead, undaunted by her belongings banging against her shins with every step.

Mule-headed woman. She made him want to prod at her more, see what would surface. He tried to think of a way to challenge her insistence on walking, wanting to somehow force her to state her opinion on his race. No doubt she had the same reservations as—ha, ha, good word choice. Again, his mother would have been amused. The same reservations about Indians most white folk. “My mother would want you to ride,” he murmured.

Finally she nodded. “For your mother.” He secured her things to the saddle, then she tucked her skirt around her legs and used his cupped hands to assist herself onto Sam’s back. “I’ll ride partway. You can ride the rest.”

He didn’t argue, but nothing under the brassy sun would allow him to ride while a white woman walked at his side. He could just imagine the comments if anyone saw them.

“Seems everyone wants a new life,” she said from her perch on Sam’s back. “Except me. I’ve been quite happy with the one God provided.”

He wondered how being abandoned made her happy or caused her to think God had provided for her. “How long since your brother left?”

She darted him a look, then shifted her gaze to some distant point down the road. “Near a week.”

Kody had learned to let insults roll off him without response. In fact, he’d learned to ignore lots of things in life. But a week? Well, he figured she had to be made of pretty strong stuff to still be fighting.

They walked on for the distance of half a mile until Charlotte broke the silence. “Why are you so anxious to go where you never see another soul?”

Kody didn’t answer at first. Wasn’t sure how to. This woman had a family. Sure, her brother had left her behind. Maybe with the best of intentions. But she expected him to welcome her into his new home. What would she know about how it felt to be a half-breed? How it affected everyone and everything in his world? How people expected him to be a wild Indian? At times his frustration made him want to act like one. “Sometimes a man likes to be alone.”

“Don’t you feel the need to have someone to talk to?”

Always. Try as he might, he never got used to keeping his thoughts inside himself. “Sam here is a good listener.”

She laughed, a sound like water rippling over rocks. A sound trickling through his senses like someone brushing his insides with a feather. “If you want only listening you could park a rock on your saddle and talk to it. Seems to me a person wants a bit more. Someone to agree or argue. Someone to acknowledge your presence.”

He refused to let her words poke at his loneliness. He’d made his decision. There was no looking back.

They fell into quiet contemplation as they continued toward the town. Kody’s thoughts always seemed to have a mind of their own, and after talk about his mother, there was no way to keep himself from remembering her. She loved him. As did his father. He’d never doubted it. They treated him as their own and never once made him feel inferior. For that he loved them deeply, but life had created a solidly strong reason for him to move on. He stopped himself from thinking further along those lines. He’d made his decision and he wouldn’t look back. Canada promised the sanctuary he sought. He hoped it would also provide forgetfulness of what he’d left behind.

Despite Charlotte’s insistence she’d take her turn walking, Kody did not allow Sam to stop until Big Rock sat square in front of them. He pulled Sam off the road and helped Charlotte dismount. He hung back behind the low bushes at the side of the road. “You go on and see if Harry has sent you a message.”

She brushed the dust off her dress and smoothed back her hair, which fell to her shoulders and trapped the golden rays of sunshine, then she took the bedroll and bag Kody handed her. He chuckled as she struggled to carry the rifle. “Might as well leave it behind.”

She ignored his suggestion. “Thank you again and God bless you on your journey to Canada.”

“You’re welcome.” He hunkered down behind the bushes and waited. He’d make his way into town later to assure himself she was okay, then he’d move on. He plucked a dry blade of grass and rolled it between his fingers. Used to be he could occupy his mind with such useless activity, but not today. His thoughts had been willful and troubling since he’d entered the house where Charlotte huddled alone. Something about her—her words of faith, her belief in family and belonging—reminded him of what he’d left behind. He didn’t thank her for bringing to his mind the very things he wanted to forget.

He turned to discuss the matter with Sam. “She thinks you’re no better than a rock to talk to.”

Sam snorted his disbelief.

“I know. I was offended, too. Shows what a woman knows. Sure, it’s true you don’t say much, but I know you understand.”

Sam shook his head in agreement.

“Can’t understand her brother abandoning her, though. She ain’t so big she couldn’t fit in somewhere.”

Sam shook his head again.

“I sure hope the man has sent for her.” He pushed to his feet and swung into the saddle. “Let’s go see.”

He pulled his hat low over his eyes and sat boldly upright, ready to face any challenge. He rode slowly through the wide streets of the suffering town, noted the vacant windows in several buildings. People pulled up and left everything behind as the drought and depression took their toll. A lone truck sat at the side of the street.

A man in the doorway of the feed store jerked to attention and watched Kody with narrowed eyes. Two old codgers leaned back on chairs in front of the mercantile. As Kody passed they crashed their chairs to all four legs. One spat on the sidewalk. Kody ignored them. He had no wish to start trouble. He only wanted to check on Charlotte and then he intended to head north as far as his empty stomach allowed before he tried to find some kind of work. It had become the pattern of his days. Sometimes, if the work was good or the pay promising, he stayed for days, even weeks. Other times, he earned a meal and moved on. Always north. Always toward his dream—Canada and forgetfulness. The journey had taken far longer than it should. He needed to make more effort to reach his goal.

He turned aside and stared at the display in the window of Johnson’s General Store, though he only noted the post office sign. Charlotte would have gone inside to ask for her letter.

He waited, ignoring the stares from across the street. The two old men posed no threat, only annoyance and a reminder of what others saw when they looked at him.

Charlotte staggered out, a letter grasped in her hands. Her eyes had a faraway look as she stared past him, not seeing him, not, he guessed, seeing anything. At the shock on her face, he almost bolted off Sam, wanting to catch her before she stumbled and fell. Only the thunderous glance of a passing matron stopped him.

Charlotte collapsed on the nearby bench beside her belongings and shuddered.

Kody waited until the woman hurried on before he murmured, “You got your letter?” Seems she should have been a little more relieved to hear from her brother.

Slowly, as if it took all her mental energy, she pulled her gaze to him. She swallowed hard, her eyes seemed to focus and she shuddered again. “Harry says he’s sorry, but they’re still looking for a place. I’m to wait for further word from him. He suggested I stay with the Hendersons, but they’re full with his parents there.” Her eyes glazed. “I have no place to go.”

The sound of someone on the sidewalk forced Kody to hold his tongue, though what could he tell her? Certainly she couldn’t go back to the farm and no food or water, but she must have friends she could stay with for a few days.

A man stopped in front of Charlotte. “Well, if it isn’t my neighbor. Haven’t seen you in a few days, Charlotte. How are you doing?”

Charlotte folded the letter and tucked it into her bag. “I’m doing just fine, Lother. How about you?”

“A little lonely, my dear. But seeing you has fixed that right up.”

Kody settled back, lowering his head and acting for all the world like he’d fallen asleep in the saddle. He didn’t like the tone of proprietorship he heard in this Lother’s voice, but it was none of his business and maybe the man would offer Charlotte the protection she needed.

Charlotte shuffled back, tucking her feet under the bench.

“What’s this?” The man indicated the bedroll and carpetbag on the bench. “Planning a trip, are you?”

The storekeeper had moseyed out to take part in the conversation. “Harry and his wife moved out. Miss Charlotte’s waiting for word to join them. That what your letter says?” he asked. “Harry sending for you?”

Charlotte shrank even farther back. She stared past Lother.

Kody lifted his chin just enough that their gazes connected. At the trapped look in her eyes he squeezed his hands into fists.

“No need for you to leave the country.” Lother’s words were low, his voice soft, yet Kody heard something he didn’t like. The sort of noise a rattler made before it struck. “I’m willing to share my name and my home with you.”

Charlotte’s chin jutted out. “I have other plans.”

“Joining your brother?” the storekeeper asked.

Charlotte flashed the man a defiant look. “That’s my business, isn’t it?”

“Mighty important business, too.” The man snorted and returned inside.

Lother rocked back on his heels. “You’re a strong young woman. ’Spect you could produce a whole lot of sons. Man needs sons to help on the farm. That brother of yours might be willing to sell me his land real cheap. Or I could wait a bit and get it for back taxes. With sons to help I could expand.”

Kody wondered how soon he expected his sons to be big enough to help. Ma had taken in several babies while Kody lived at home, and he seemed to remember they were nothing but work for a couple of years and then they only ran around getting into mischief. Not much help, in his estimation. But this man had other plans for his babies. Plans including Charlotte as a broodmare. Kody twisted the reins until his hands hurt.

Lother touched Charlotte’s cheek. “You’ll do just fine,” he said, his voice was as oily as the matted hair poking out from under the blackened edges of his hat. Kody could never understand a man who didn’t wash up and comb his hair occasionally.

Charlotte twitched away from the man’s touch, her eyes wide, dark with fear and something more, something Kody could only guess was loathing. It was plain she didn’t much like this man.

Kody didn’t like him at all.

Lother shoved Charlotte’s belongings aside and sat very close, pushing his thigh against hers.

The man went too far. Kody leaned forward, preparing to spring to Charlotte’s defense.

But Charlotte leaped to her feet. “Excuse me, I have to get to the train station.” She grabbed her belongings and hurried down the street.

Lother called after her, “You best be changing your mind soon and stop playing Miss High-and-Mighty. Ain’t like you got other beaux.” The man turned, saw Kody watching him. “What are you staring at, Injun? Move along.”

Kody didn’t need the man’s permission, nor did he swing Sam into the street because he’d been ordered to. He had to see what Charlotte had up her sleeve. She’d said her brother had told her to wait. Did she have somewhere to go? Someplace safe from this Lother man?

He rode slowly to the end of the block and circled around by a back street to the train station. He dismounted and shuffled slowly to the platform, acting as if he had no reason in the world to be there other than aimless boredom. He didn’t want to attract attention, nor have anyone suspect he had any interest in Charlotte.

She sat on a bench in the shade, slumped over her knees as if in pain.

He controlled the urge to hurry to her side and, instead, sauntered along the platform to stand near the edge, facing the tracks. His back to her, he said, “You figure out a place to go?”

She sniffed, a dry, determined sound that brought a slight smile to his lips. He’d expected tears, not this attitude of defiance. “I have no money. No family apart from Harry. No one here has room or ability to keep me. But I’m not stuck, if that’s what you’re thinking. I’m not alone. God is with me. He’s promised to provide all I need. I’m sitting here praying.”

“Waiting for a miracle?” Far as he could see, God had not smiled any more favorably on this woman than on himself. For his part, he’d given up waiting for miracles or, for that matter, evidence of God’s love.

“I guess you don’t believe in miracles or God’s provision.”

He crossed his arms over his chest and stared down the empty tracks. “Can’t say one way or the other. Might be God sends them both your way.”

“I’m counting on it.”

There seemed nothing more to say after that. He could, having done his duty, ride away and leave her to God’s care. Yet he didn’t move. How often had he heard Ma say, “Son, what kind of people are we if we see a soul in need and turn our backs? Whatever the color of your skin, that uncaring attitude is savage.” He wished he could shut off her voice, but it spoke softly in the back of his mind. She practiced what she preached, always helping those in need often without so much as a word of thanks. “I don’t do it for the praise of men,” she’d say. “I do it for God. He sees and knows my heart.”

Kody had not one doubt what his mother would do in this situation. And what she would expect him to do. But she saw it in terms of black and white. He saw it in shades of red. He smiled, knowing Ma would appreciate the irony of his thoughts.

He uncurled his arms and let his fists hang at his sides. He could not walk away from his training. Again, he smiled, seeing the incongruity of his reasoning—unable to walk away from his training, yet determinedly riding away from his parents who had provided the training. His smile flattened. Best for those back home that he headed north, far, far from them all.

Except if he was to do what Ma expected, that might change. “I know someplace where you can stay safely until you get word from your brother.”

“You do?”

“With my mother and father.” It totally fouled his plans, but he could not leave Charlotte here.

He heard her huff. Knew she would refuse.

“You got a better idea?”

“Yes. I’ll wait back at the farm.”

He spun around to face her. “You can’t mean that. You have no water. No food.”

Her stubborn look didn’t change.

“And what about your friend Lother?”

“He’s not my friend.” She looked down the street as if fearing the man would follow her. Slowly, she brought her gaze back to Kody and stared at him for a full thirty seconds. “Seems I don’t have a whole lot of choices.”

He could hardly describe her reaction as grateful. “Maybe it’s the miracle you’ve prayed for.” He knew from the scowl on her lips that she didn’t believe it any more than he did. “I need to get a few things. Why don’t you go back to the store and arrange to have any messages forwarded care of Reverend Douglas in Favor, South Dakota?”

She nodded, reluctantly, he figured, and he left her to take care of that detail while he headed toward the livery barn. He patted his pocket, knowing his purse would be much lighter before he left town.

This decision of his meant he would be heading south, instead of north, heading back to the very place he’d vowed to leave behind forever.

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