Chapter 24

24

Letty bit her lip as Philip slumped a little lower in his saddle. They couldn’t go on like this. They needed to stop and get him warm. Rusty, too, though her wolf seemed to be faring slightly better. He’d been limping along beside her for the last two hours, his head low but his pace steady. Rain fell in an unforgiving stream as the temperature of the air continued to drop.

She didn’t know much about the physical repercussions of continued exposure to wet and cold conditions, but she knew she was miserable, and the sum of her sogginess could only be a fraction of what plagued Philip. Letty had donned her cape once she’d returned from fetching the packhorse and pulled the hood over her hair. It smelled like wet dog, but her nose eventually unwrinkled and accepted the odor. She wore her slicker over the damp cape, but rain still found its way inside.

Philip had steered them toward cattle country, hoping they would run across a line shack or an empty barn, but they’d found nothing. And despite her pleading, he’d refused to approach any occupied homestead to seek assistance. A tarp strung between two trees was looking better and better. Yet instinct warned that it wouldn’t be enough. More than rain hounded them. Philip and Rusty still carried the effects of the river. The bone-rattling cold of the water along with whatever injuries they’d sustained from the struggle.

She needed to find a way to help them. Show me, God. Please. Forcing her chin up even though it meant exposing her face to the rain, Letty scanned the gray landscape, desperate for a sign. Any sign.

Shielding her eyes with a hand pressed to her brow, she peered ahead of her but saw nothing but dirt and trees. She twisted to the right and caught a glimpse of something above the branches. A snakelike, gray ribbon weaving up into the sky. Chimney smoke.

Heart pounding with hope, Letty faced forward. “Philip.”

He didn’t answer. In fact, he looked a bit lopsided in the saddle.

“Philip?” She increased her volume and nudged Shadow into a faster gait.

He gave a jerk, then straightened as if he’d nodded off.

Letty reached for his arm as she drew alongside him. Good heavens. He was shaking so hard, he could barely hold on to the reins. He turned to look at her, and it took effort not to gasp. His face had lost all color. And he seemed to be having trouble keeping his eyes open.

Letty’s jaw tightened and resolve hardened her belly. Enough was enough.

“We’re stopping.” She took hold of Steele’s reins and led the gelding off the path to a small copse of trees to their left.

“What are you...?” Philip tried to reclaim the reins, but his movements were sluggish and easy to circumvent. He couldn’t even finish his sentence.

Refusing to let the alarm spiking through her chest derail her, she focused on steering Philip to what paltry shelter they had at hand. Worrying could wait until she got him somewhere warm.

With soldier-like efficiency, Letty took charge of the packhorse, extracted the tarp, and had one corner tied to a low-hanging branch by the time Philip managed to dismount. He stood next to his horse and stared at her as if he wasn’t quite sure what he was supposed to be doing.

“Grab your bedroll.” She pointed to an oilskin-wrapped bundle behind the cantle.

He blinked and then moved slowly to obey. She had the tarp secured by the time he collected the bedding. Letty took the roll from his hands and laid it out beneath the tarp, folding it in half so the blanket inside would remain dry.

“Sit,” she ordered. When he didn’t move fast enough for her, she dragged him under the tarp.

He ducked his head, and water poured from the brim of his hat. Trusting him to find the bedroll and to plant his seat in the middle of it, she called to Rusty.

The wolf gave himself a good shake, then padded into the small covered area.

“Good boy.” Letty hunkered next to Philip, trying to ignore his violent shivering. She patted the ground next to Philip’s thigh and urged her pet to come. “Right here, Rusty. Nice and close.”

Rusty stretched out next to Philip and even placed his head in the Pinkerton’s lap. Philip’s tremulous hand found his fur and gave him a shaky stroke that nearly broke Letty’s tears free from the prison where she’d locked them.

“Stay, Rusty,” she murmured in a low voice. “Keep him warm.”

Then before Philip’s sluggish mind could piece together her intent, she ran from the makeshift shelter, mounted Shadow, and raced for the line of smoke rising in the distance.

“Lettyyyyyy!”

Philip’s shout echoed more with hurt than anger, and her heart chaffed at causing him distress. But she didn’t look back. She kept riding and prayed he’d not try to follow her this time.

Consumed with her concern for Philip, she gave little thought to anything else until she rode through a stand of trees and encountered the homestead she sought. It was a small log cabin, maybe only two or three rooms, but what interested Letty most were the outbuildings to the west. One in particular had a stovepipe poking through the roof. No smoke wafted from the opening, but its existence gave her hope.

The bark of a dog echoed above the pattering rain. Letty eased Shadow forward, scanning for the dog as they moved. Shadow was used to Rusty, but a dog charging from an unknown location could spook her. A brown head jutted out from under the house’s front porch, catching Letty’s eye. There you are. It seemed he had no interest in actually greeting the callers, just announcing their presence. Not that Letty blamed him. She wouldn’t be out in this rain, either, if she had any choice in the matter.

She signaled Shadow to halt about ten feet from the front door, expecting the portal to open at any moment, but it remained closed. Was the owner asleep? Surely not. The day wasn’t even half over.

“Hello?” Letty shouted through the rain, urgency pounding through her veins. “Is anyone home? Please. I need help.”

A curtain flickered at the window to the left of the door, evidence that someone was alive inside and aware of her presence.

“I’m seeking shelter. I can pay.”

Grandmother had insisted she carry ample funds of her own in addition to the money Philip had been paid to cover their supplies and travel expenses. She had close to twenty dollars in small bills and coins stashed in various places, including a pocket sewn into the lining of her cape.

The curtain drew back again, revealing a face. Letty couldn’t make out many details with the rain distorting her vision, but the person didn’t seem to be very tall. About a foot of unoccupied glass stretched above the person’s head.

All at once, the window slid upward. “You alone?”

A high-pitched, wobbly voice. A woman. Probably elderly. No wonder she didn’t want to open her door to a stranger.

Letty dismounted and took a few steps toward the house. The dog under the porch started barking again, bringing her to a halt, but hopefully her hostess saw enough in her split skirt and small stature to conclude she, too, was female and posed no threat.

“I’m alone at the moment, yes, but my traveling companion has taken a severe chill. I left him about a half mile from here. I need a place where he can get warm and dry.” She pointed toward the building that might have been a bunkhouse at one time. “Could we take shelter in your outbuilding there? It looks like it has a stove. We have our own food and supplies and won’t impose upon you.”

The window slammed shut, and Letty stood alone in the mud, the rain seeping into every crevice. Had she just been turned away? Please, God. I don’t know where else to go. She blinked back sudden tears. Goodness. Wasn’t she wet enough already? Willing her chin not to wobble, she gathered her composure and her courage. Philip and Rusty were depending on her. She’d not give up. Sizing up her options, Letty held her ground and internally debated the merits of storming the castle and pounding on the door until it opened. Wasn’t there a parable in the Bible about a neighbor needing bread who eventually received it because he kept pestering his neighbor until the man opened his door to him? Letty didn’t much care for the idea of forcing this woman’s hand, but if making a pest of herself gained shelter for Philip, she’d forfeit good manners and annoy with all the dedication of a swarm of mosquitos.

Fists clenched with purpose, Letty strode for the porch. Yet before she could take more than three steps, the front door opened. A gray-haired woman with a slight hunch in her back shuffled onto the covered porch, a large canning jar in her hand filled with a golden broth and chunks of vegetables. She shushed her dog, then signaled for Letty to approach.

Gratitude drove the fight out of Letty as she hurried forward, a wide smile stretching across her face. “Oh, thank you! I promise we’ll be no trouble to you.”

“The bunkhouse ain’t been used since my husband died four years ago, but my son cleans out all the stovepipes on the property on a regular basis. It should be safe. Not sure if there’s any kindlin’ in the firebox, but you can help yourself to wood from the shed. The boys from church keep me in good supply.”

“We’ll manage.” If Letty hadn’t been as sopping as a drowned rat, she might have hugged the kind woman. “I can’t tell you how much this means...” Emotion choked her throat. “Truly, you’re an answer to prayer.”

The woman’s eyes softened as she held out the jar. “I thought it strange I had a hankering for chicken soup last night. I usually only eat soup in the winter. But as soon as you said your fella had taken a bad chill, I knowed it was God’s work. Ain’t been a chill created this soup can’t cure. This recipe’s been healing colds and chills in our family for four generations. You heat this up and feed it to your man. It’ll put him to rights.”

The tears Letty had banished earlier returned in force and leaked out the corners of her eyes as she accepted the jar. “Thank you for being so kind.”

The woman shooed her with an impatient hand. “Go on. Fetch your fella. The bunkhouse is unlocked. Can’t say it’s clean, but the roof don’t leak.”

It sounded like a veritable paradise compared to their current accommodations. Letty clutched the jar close to her chest and dipped her head in a small bow. “God bless you.”

The woman turned away, as if uneasy with the thanks. Either that, or she was just eager to get out of the damp. Smart lady. Letty’s fingertips already resembled prunes, yet it wasn’t her own discomfort that had her scrambling down the porch steps and splattering mud as she ran for the bunkhouse. The picture of Philip huddled beneath her poorly rigged tarp, shivering uncontrollably, spurred her haste.

She stayed only long enough to set down the jar of soup and eye the kindling box. A few scraps remained, but they’d need wood from the shed she’d spotted near the side of the house.

Having her resources scouted, she hurried back to Shadow, climbed into the saddle, and urged the mare into a slow canter.

Hang on, Philip. I’m coming.