Homecoming. Jill Marie Landis
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lip curled in disgust. “Even if she did, you don’t know what she’s thinking.”
“It’s just ’til they find her folks,” Hattie reminded him.
“Do you even know her name?” Joe pressed.
Jesse cleared his throat and shoved his empty cup aside. “The governor’s office is going through records of Indian raids and letters from folks searching for missing and abducted relations. We’ve got boxes of army files dating back to the first Texas settlers. It’s just a matter of time until we find out who she is.”
Hattie watched her son stare across the open range and studied his strong, handsome profile. Now that he was older, he reminded her so much of a young Orson that at times she almost called him by his father’s name. His black curly hair and midnight eyes came from the Ellenberg side of the family, but he’d inherited his stubborn determination from her.
Since they’d lost Orson and Mellie, Joe’s heart had hardened, even as her own had opened to forgiveness.
Now a young woman needed a home and someone to guide her out of the darkness, someone to lead her back to the light. Perhaps if the girl and Joe took the journey together, one or, hopefully, both would succeed. Would it ever be possible for Joe to forgive and move on? Would it ever be possible for him to believe again?
Hattie welcomed the chance to have another female in the house, even one that presented a great challenge. She hardly remembered what it was like to have a woman friend to confide in, to laugh with.
The laughter had gone out of their lives one bleak winter night long ago.
Jesse was waiting for an answer. She met his gaze and began to understand why he’d turned to her.
Who better to help the girl than me? Who else can even begin to understand all she’s been through?
Hattie said a small, silent prayer and looked at her son.
“I’ll abide by whatever you say, Joe, but I’d like to do this.”
Then she rose and began to busy herself with the cups and saucers. She collected the empty plate she’d filled with half a dozen almond macaroons. Jesse had eaten them all.
She had made her position clear to Joe. Now she put her trust in the Lord.
Jesse’s wooden chair squeaked under his weight and then silence settled over them all. She knew Joe was devoted to her. If he wasn’t, he’d have ridden off and left her and this place behind long ago. Spurred by sorrow, emptiness and guilt, he’d have surely chosen to follow a crooked path.
But he loved her enough to devote his life to the Rocking e. She was convinced that deep down inside, he was still a good man. He’d lost his way, that was all. She wasn’t about to lose hope of his finding it again.
She looked up and caught him watching her intently, almost as if he were trying to see into her heart. As he studied her face, she was tempted to reach up and tug on the brim of her bonnet, to try and cover the white, puckered scar that ran parallel to her forehead—the result of an attempted scalping.
Instead, she gathered her hope and courage and smiled back.
“Is this what you really want, Ma? Are you sure you can do this?” He spoke so softly she barely heard him.
Hattie was never more certain. “The Lord never gives us a burden we can’t carry, Joe.”
“Yeah? Well, He’s given you more than your fair share of hurt, Ma. You don’t have to do this.”
Oh, son, she thought. Perhaps I don’t have to, but I think you do.
When she didn’t respond, he fell into thoughtful silence. A few seconds later she saw his shoulders slowly rise and fall and heard his deep sigh of resignation. She nearly bowed her head in thanksgiving.
“If you want, I guess it won’t hurt for me to go have a look at her,” Joe said.
She knew what this was costing him. Joe avoided the town of Glory like the plague, only going in when they were in dire need of supplies. She never went at all. Not anymore.
But today she insisted, “I’m going with you, son.”
The minute the words were out, she started trembling.
“You don’t have to do that, Ma. I’ll go.”
“I don’t have to.” She nodded, wanting to be certain he knew she meant it. “I want to.”
Joe stood and put on his hat without looking at Hattie.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He turned to Jesse. “If this upsets my mother in the least, then the deal’s off.”
Chapter Three
F olks stared at Joe and Hattie, seated on their buckboard wagon as they followed Jesse down the dusty main street of Glory, Texas. The Ellenbergs stared straight ahead, ignoring the whitewashed one- and two-story houses on the edge of town.
Emmert Harroway, founder of Glory, came to Texas in 1850, determined to settle a town in the center of what would become cattle country. Along with his wife and children, his two brothers and their elderly father, Emmert had emigrated from Louisiana. He had no idea what to name the town until he reached the tracts of land he’d bought sight unseen, lifted his eyes to heaven and shouted, “Glory hallelujah! This is it!”
The name Glory took. His dream of bringing faith and commerce to the frontier was hard-won, but over the past few years, though Emmert had not survived to see Glory become a success, the small town thrived.
Joe made the mistake of glancing over at the row of shops and stores and saw Harrison Barker, owner of the Mercantile and Dry Goods, pause in the midst of sweeping off the boardwalk out front. The man didn’t even bother to close his jaw as the Ellenbergs passed by.
Joe didn’t have to see them to feel other similar stares. The shame that ate away at him morning, noon and night intensified whenever he came to town. No one had ever thrown what had happened to his family in his face, but it was easy to discern their silent condemnation. With his mother riding beside him, their curiosity was just as palpable.
They passed the train depot, the clapboard-sided buildings that housed a butcher shop, a brand-new two-story boardinghouse. An empty law office now housed a U.S. Army annex under Jesse’s command.
The whitewashed church flanked by the church hall fronted a dusty town square and park at the far end of Main Street. Joe pulled the wagon up in the open yard in front of the hall where a crowd had gathered. Seeing so many of the “good” folk of Glory standing together made him break out in a cold sweat.
As was the way of small towns, news traveled fast. Word of the captives’ recovery had spread from household to household and now the curious waited like scavengers, hoping to get a glimpse of the forsaken souls who’d been abducted by their fearsome enemies and forced into unspeakable degradation and servitude.
Joe hated adding to the circus.
Beside him, his mother smoothed her hands along the folds of her brown serge skirt. He saw her grasp the cord on her paisley reticule, twist and hold on so tight that her knuckles whitened. He rarely saw her rattled and knew it was the unknown, as much as the knot of townsfolk, that provoked her nerves.
They would soon be face-to-face with what the others so desperately wanted to see.
He reminded himself that he was here for his mother, not to worry about what folks thought about him. He’d done little enough to make his ma’s life easier these past few years. Her courage and faith both astounded and confused him. She had every reason to hate God and yet she didn’t.
His mother continuously gave and never asked for anything.
If taking in a captive was something she wanted, if trying to help the girl might help his mother in any way at all, then far be it from