Hill Country Christmas. Laurie Kingery
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and occasionally he spied a roadrunner, darting here and there in search of the insects and snakes on which it fed.
Occasionally he spied a ranch house with outbuildings and a corral, and he knew he ought to stop and inquire if the owner needed another hand, but he felt no strong compulsion. He was enjoying the solitude and the opportunity it gave him to think.
The sun was warm on his back. He remembered, as he paused to let Shiloh drink from a cottonwood-shaded creek, how he had once used such solitary rides to gain inspiration for his sermons. It all seemed like a hundred years ago.
In those carefree days, he’d had no bigger concerns than planning next Sunday’s service and wondering and praying about when the Lord was going to provide him with a wife. Every man needed a wife, but a bachelor-preacher surely had more need than most, so as to keep his concentration on the Lord’s work. Fully half a dozen unmarried misses plus a widow or two decorated his front pew every Sunday morning, smiling up at him, but none of them had seemed quite right for him. Surely the Lord would shine a special light on the woman who was meant to be his wife, wouldn’t He? But as yet, no such illumination had been provided.
Then the shadow of war had cast itself across the land, and Jude sensed this wasn’t the time to be marrying and leaving a wife behind, her belly perhaps swelling with his child, a woman who might become a widow. The Lord was calling him to serve as one of His representatives in the army. There was time enough to think about marrying when the war was over, when—if—he resumed his position at the Mount Mulberry Church. A lot could happen during a war, he’d known, but as it turned out, he hadn’t guessed the half of it.
And then the war, and the things he’d done during the war, had changed him so completely that there seemed to be no point in even trying to return to Mount Mulberry and its church. He wasn’t fit to be its or anyone else’s pastor anymore.
With twilight drawing on, Jude and Shiloh had descended the hills and rejoined the road back to town. Jude had been humming “Tenting Tonight,” an old Civil War tune, when a shot rang out in the distance, echoing among the hills. The stallion stopped stock-still, his ears pricked forward. He gave a snort and then whinnied as if responding to a call.
Jude stopped humming, listening, too, and then he heard it—the faint cry of a man somewhere off the road among the dense mesquite and cedar. He urged his stallion off the road, navigating carefully among the cacti, the shrubs and the low trees, and after a few moments, he found the old man.
He was sitting alone on a limestone boulder, cradling his right arm, his floppy-brimmed hat shading his features.
“Howdy, stranger. I sure was thankful to hear you coming. I think this arm is broke. I tried walking, but I got to feelin’ kinda fainty-like.”
Jude dismounted. “What happened?” he asked, going toward the man.
“I rode out here just to have a glimpse at my old spread. Used t’ live here afore me and the missus got too old t’ be ranchin’ anymore and moved t’ town. I sold my acres to the neighboring rancher, even though I never thought much a’ Dixon Miller. Anyway, I was ridin’ along an’ someone fired a shot—not at me, I think, but real close t’ the road, like. My fool horse was so spooked, he threw me and took off,” he admitted with a rueful grin. “Didn’t see him run past ya, did ya?”
Jude admitted he hadn’t.
“Don’t know where he’s got to, though it wouldn’t surprise me none if Miller’s boys find him and put him in with their stock. All I wanted was just a glimpse of our old home,” he said wistfully, then he straightened. “James Heston’s the name,” the old man said, extending his other hand, though he grimaced when he loosed his careful hold on the broken right arm. His face was craggy and lined but his gaze honest and direct.
“Jude Tucker. Let me help you onto Shiloh, here, and we’ll get you into town. Is there a doctor in Llano Crossing?”
The old man gave a mirthless snort. “None I’d send my worst enemy to, let alone go myself. There isn’t any need, anyway. Nothing feels out of place.” He felt along the forearm as if to demonstrate, wincing as he did so. “My ranch is just over that ridge. If you could just help me get home, Jude Tucker, I’ll be fine. And I’m sure my missus will give you supper by way of thanks.”
Jude assisted Heston to mount, thankful that Shiloh was even-tempered enough not to mind a strange rider, especially one who trembled slightly with the effort to raise his foot to the near stirrup. Then he walked alongside the buckskin in the direction of town.
They found Heston’s horse halfway back. The beast had apparently cut across country and was calmly grazing. Jude mounted him rather than put Heston to the trouble of changing horses, and they rode on to Heston’s house.
“That was delicious, Mrs. Heston,” Jude said, two hours later, as he pushed himself back from the table and the remains of a dinner of fried chicken, black-eyed peas, corn bread and peach pie—it seemed as if he was fated to have peach pie today, even though he’d declined it at the hotel.
The comfortably plump woman with strands of iron-gray hair coming loose from her bun beamed at him. “My goodness, Mr. Tucker, it was the least I could do after you were kind enough to bring my Jim home,” she said, bestowing a smile of immense warmth. “It’s such a rare treat to have company, in any case.”
“My wife is the best cook in these parts,” James Heston bragged. He hadn’t eaten that much himself, even though his wife had cut up his chicken and buttered his corn bread so that left-handed eating would be easier. His forearm was splinted now and lying in a makeshift sling of bright yellow calico, so perhaps the pain had dimmed his appetite.
She beamed. “Thank you, Jim. And what brings you to these parts, Mr. Tucker?”
“Just passin’ through,” he said. “I’ve been mining out in Nevada, but I had to come here…on some business,” he said, deliberately being vague. “I’ll be heading west again, soon as I raise a little traveling stake.”
Heston’s eyes met those of his wife. “Lookin’ for work, are you?” Heston inquired.
Jude shrugged. “I might be. I’ve done some carpentry, but I can turn my hand to most anything.”
“I’m going to need some help around here with the chores for a little while, till this bone knits itself back together. And you saw when we came in from the barn that I’m in the midst of addin’ on a room to the back.”
Jude nodded. Heston was about halfway through framing the addition, from the looks of things.
“We couldn’t pay you much, but we’d include room and board for as long as you want to stay. It’d certainly be cheaper than the hotel or the boardinghouse.”
Jude was aware that both the elderly man and his wife were holding their breath awaiting his answer. Surely their offer was an answer to a prayer he hadn’t even prayed yet.
“Thank you. I’d be pleased to do that for a spell, Mr. Heston,” he said, humbled by their kindness to a stranger.
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