tumbling weeds and bits of paper. Music poured from a saloon up the street, and a man’s raucous laughter floated from an open doorway. Time to see what his future might hold over in the Oriental Saloon.
Chapter Eight
Christy braced to meet her mother as she walked up the path to the house after her morning trip to the store. Shifting the burlap bag of food momentarily to her injured arm, she winced, then moved the bag back to her other arm. Ma’s mood seemed to change as fast as a lightning bug. You could never tell what it would be—mellow, sour, or somewhere in between. Hopefully finding the money yesterday that she’d tucked away so they could buy groceries would help improve her frame of mind.
The memory of her mother’s loss smote her, and a lump formed in her throat. What kind of pain must Ma be enduring at the death of her husband? Even if the man was basically no good, he’d treated Ma decent much of the time. Too bad he was the only man in Joshua’s life during his teen years, though. Now that Joshua was nineteen he figured himself a man and wanted to be tough like Logan. Christy felt a deep stirring of fear at what may lay ahead for her brother if he didn’t change.
Her visit to Doctor Goodfellow first thing this morning had brought a sense of relief. She’d avoided infection and the deep tear in her arm seemed to be healing nicely. He’d placed a fresh dressing on the wound and instructed her to keep it covered for a few more days, but the pain had almost abated.
Her mind drifted to the man who’d bandaged her arm during the robbery. Something about his eyes as well as his actions said decency resided in him, and he’d insisted he wasn’t part of the outlaw gang. She doubted that was the truth, as the other robbers accepted his presence. But his touch had been gentle, and he’d not cast an offensive glance her way. Christy pushed open the door of their small house. She’d kept her word and not described him to the marshal. There was nothing more to do.
Ma swung her feet to the floor and struggled to stand, but a coughing spasm hit and held her captive.
Christy rushed to her mother, who was hunched into a ball. She looked so small and fragile, and her entire body shook. “I’ll get you a glass of water.”
She hurried to the kitchen and searched the cupboards for a container of water. Nothing but a dirty slop bucket. All the water she’d brought yesterday had been used for cleaning. Hastening to her mother’s room she surveyed the area. Her gaze lit on a porcelain jug. She lifted it and sniffed. Eww. It reeked of spirits. She set it back down and turned away, then spied a small pitcher on the floor by the bed. Gingerly she lifted it to her nose. No smell. Clutching it tight, she ran to the kitchen and poured it into a glass. Water. It didn’t appear to be terribly fresh, but it couldn’t be helped.
Ma’s coughing spell had eased, and Christy pressed the glass into her hands. She took a sip. “Thank you, girl. I’m beholden to you.”
Christy sank onto the sofa beside Ivy and wrapped her arm around the older woman. “I’ve missed you, Ma.”
“You too, Christy girl.” Ma patted Christy’s hand and mustered a smile. “More than you’ll know.” Then the smile faded, and she stiffened her spine. “That’s enough mollycoddlin’. Where’s Joshua?”
“I was hoping you could tell me. He ran out of here yesterday without saying a word. Where does he usually go when he’s upset?”
Ma grimaced. “To the bar. Like Logan always did.” She scowled. “I loved that man, but when it came to whiskey and gamblin’, he was worthless for anything else. I’ve fretted over your brother somethin’ fierce. Don’t want him endin’ up like Logan, lyin’ dead in some street.”
Christy sucked in a sharp breath. Ma remembered. Maybe she’d only needed time to come to terms with her husband’s sudden passing, and now she’d adjust. If only they could get her well and over this
Chapter Eight
Christy braced to meet her mother as she walked up the path to the house after her morning trip to the store. Shifting the burlap bag of food momentarily to her injured arm, she winced, then moved the bag back to her other arm. Ma’s mood seemed to change as fast as a lightning bug. You could never tell what it would be—mellow, sour, or somewhere in between. Hopefully finding the money yesterday that she’d tucked away so they could buy groceries would help improve her frame of mind.
The memory of her mother’s loss smote her, and a lump formed in her throat. What kind of pain must Ma be enduring at the death of her husband? Even if the man was basically no good, he’d treated Ma decent much of the time. Too bad he was the only man in Joshua’s life during his teen years, though. Now that Joshua was nineteen he figured himself a man and wanted to be tough like Logan. Christy felt a deep stirring of fear at what may lay ahead for her brother if he didn’t change.
Her visit to Doctor Goodfellow first thing this morning had brought a sense of relief. She’d avoided infection and the deep tear in her arm seemed to be healing nicely. He’d placed a fresh dressing on the wound and instructed her to keep it covered for a few more days, but the pain had almost abated.
Her mind drifted to the man who’d bandaged her arm during the robbery. Something about his eyes as well as his actions said decency resided in him, and he’d insisted he wasn’t part of the outlaw gang. She doubted that was the truth, as the other robbers accepted his presence. But his touch had been gentle, and he’d not cast an offensive glance her way. Christy pushed open the door of their small house. She’d kept her word and not described him to the marshal. There was nothing more to do.
Ma swung her feet to the floor and struggled to stand, but a coughing spasm hit and held her captive.
Christy rushed to her mother, who was hunched into a ball. She looked so small and fragile, and her entire body shook. “I’ll get you a glass of water.”
She hurried to the kitchen and searched the cupboards for a container of water. Nothing but a dirty slop bucket. All the water she’d brought yesterday had been used for cleaning. Hastening to her mother’s room she surveyed the area. Her gaze lit on a porcelain jug. She lifted it and sniffed. Eww. It reeked of spirits. She set it back down and turned away, then spied a small pitcher on the floor by the bed. Gingerly she lifted it to her nose. No smell. Clutching it tight, she ran to the kitchen and poured it into a glass. Water. It didn’t appear to be terribly fresh, but it couldn’t be helped.
Ma’s coughing spell had eased, and Christy pressed the glass into her hands. She took a sip. “Thank you, girl. I’m beholden to you.”
Christy sank onto the sofa beside Ivy and wrapped her arm around the older woman. “I’ve missed you, Ma.”
“You too, Christy girl.” Ma patted Christy’s hand and mustered a smile. “More than you’ll know.” Then the smile faded, and she stiffened her spine. “That’s enough mollycoddlin’. Where’s Joshua?”
“I was hoping you could tell me. He ran out of here yesterday without saying a word. Where does he usually go when he’s upset?”
Ma grimaced. “To the bar. Like Logan always did.” She scowled. “I loved that man, but when it came to whiskey and gamblin’, he was worthless for anything else. I’ve fretted over your brother somethin’ fierce. Don’t want him endin’ up like Logan, lyin’ dead in some street.”
Christy sucked in a sharp breath. Ma remembered. Maybe she’d only needed time to come to terms with her husband’s sudden passing, and now she’d adjust. If only they could get her well and over this
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