Chapter 2 - Five Children From Wolverine Ridge
His name was Caleb.
Charlene learned that before they ever left the mercantile.
She also learned he hated her.
Not disliked.
Not distrusted.
Hated.
He stood between Charlene and Jeb as if he were prepared to physically prevent the marriage himself.
“You can't just bring somebody home.”
“Caleb,” Jeb warned.
“She ain't Mama.”
“No one said she was.”
“You said you need a mother.”
Jeb's face tightened.
Charlene gently lowered Toby to the floor.
The little boy immediately reached for her skirt.
That seemed to make Caleb angrier.
“You don't even know her.”
Jeb looked toward Charlene.
“That makes two of us.”
Nathaniel laughed behind them.
“Remarkable foundation for marriage.”
Jeb ignored him.
Charlene wished the floor would open and swallow the entire mercantile.
Instead, the thin girl approached her.
“My name's Ruth.”
She spoke so softly Charlene almost missed it.
“I'm ten.”
Charlene smiled.
“I'm pleased to meet you, Ruth.”
Ruth glanced toward Caleb as if expecting punishment for friendliness.
The two younger boys were Eli, eight, and Noah, six.
Toby was three.
Five children.
Five pairs of eyes carrying five different versions of grief.
Charlene understood grief.
That was perhaps the first reason she did not withdraw her hand.
The second was Nathaniel.
He stepped toward her.
“You cannot possibly be considering this.”
Charlene looked at him.
“Why?”
“Because you know nothing about Russell.”
“I knew you for eight years.”
Several people suddenly found reasons to cough.
Nathaniel's face flushed.
Charlene had not planned the words.
That made them feel even better.
Bethany touched his arm.
“Nathaniel.”
He shook her off.
“You'll regret this.”
Charlene met his gaze.
“Perhaps.”
She picked up her flour.
“But I've survived regret before.”
Jeb's mouth twitched.
Not quite a smile.
But close.
They left Bitter Creek before noon.
There was no wedding that day.
Despite Jeb's startling public proposal, Charlene insisted there would be no marriage until she understood what she was agreeing to.
Jeb surprised her by accepting immediately.
“You come see the place,” he said. “Meet the children proper. If you want down the mountain afterward, I'll bring you.”
That answer mattered.
More than Charlene let him see.
A desperate man might have pressured her.
A dangerous man might have assumed her acceptance belonged to him.
Jeb Russell did neither.
They loaded supplies into a wagon.
Charlene returned to Mrs. Whitcomb's boarding house and packed everything she owned into one trunk.
It took eleven minutes.
Three dresses.
Two winter shawls.
Sewing supplies.
A Bible that had belonged to her mother.
A small wooden box containing six years of letters she should have burned.
And a silver thimble her grandmother had given her at thirteen.
Mrs. Whitcomb stood in the doorway.
“You're truly going?”
“For a visit.”
“With Jeb Russell?”
“Yes.”
“And five wild children?”
Charlene closed the trunk.
“Yes.”
Mrs. Whitcomb stared.
Then, unexpectedly, she smiled.
“Well.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Mrs. Whitcomb.”
The older woman shrugged.
“It's simply the first interesting thing you've done in three years.”
Charlene laughed.
Actually laughed.
She had almost forgotten the sound.
The journey began gently enough.
Bitter Creek vanished behind them.
The road narrowed between pine forests.
Golden grass gave way to rock.
Rock gave way to mountain slopes.
Jeb drove the wagon.
Caleb sat beside him.
Charlene sat in the rear with the younger children.
Ruth kept careful distance.
Eli asked twenty-seven questions during the first hour.
“Can you cook?”
“Yes.”
“Biscuits?”
“Yes.”
“Rabbit?”
“I've never cooked rabbit.”
“Can you sew boots?”
“Not well.”
“Can you shoot?”
Charlene blinked.
“Not particularly.”
Eli looked concerned.
Noah whispered, “Mama could.”
Silence followed.
Charlene nodded.
“I imagine she could do many things.”
Noah stared at his hands.
“She could sing.”
“What did she sing?”
Noah looked surprised by the question.
Then he hummed three uncertain notes.
Ruth immediately turned away.
Caleb's shoulders stiffened in the front seat.
Jeb said nothing.
Charlene understood.
Their mother was not simply absent.
She was present everywhere.
In the silence.
In the songs they avoided.
In Caleb's anger.
In Ruth's careful watching.
Charlene had been asked to enter a home already occupied by a ghost.
That evening they camped beside a narrow creek.
Jeb built a fire.
The children moved with practiced efficiency.
Caleb gathered wood.
Ruth unpacked food.
Eli and Noah watered the horses.
Even Toby attempted to carry a kettle until Charlene rescued both toddler and cookware.
“You've trained them well,” she said.
Jeb looked toward Caleb.
“They trained themselves some.”
“How long has their mother been gone?”
Jeb's hands stopped.
“Two years.”
Charlene waited.
He offered nothing more.
She did not push.
They ate beans and biscuits.
Charlene noticed Ruth slipped half her biscuit into her pocket.
Later, when the others slept, Charlene found the girl sitting behind the wagon.
“For tomorrow?” Charlene asked.
Ruth startled.
She looked down at the biscuit.
“Sometimes food runs out.”
Charlene sat beside her.
“Does it?”
“On the mountain.”
“Often?”
Ruth hesitated.
“Last winter.”
Charlene's concern sharpened.
“What happened?”
Ruth stared toward the fire.
“Snow.”
One word.
But it contained an entire season.
Charlene wrapped her shawl tighter.
“Your father seems careful.”
“He is.”
“Then why did food run out?”
Ruth's mouth trembled.
“Because Mama used to know what we needed.”
Charlene did not answer immediately.
Then she said, “Keep the biscuit.”
Ruth looked at her.
“But tomorrow we'll make more.”
The girl studied Charlene's face.
“You ain't scared?”
“Of biscuits?”
“Of us.”
Charlene smiled faintly.
“Should I be?”
“Folks are.”
“I've noticed folks can be foolish.”
Ruth almost smiled.
Almost.
The next afternoon they reached Wolverine Ridge.
Charlene had expected isolation.
She had not expected beauty.
The cabin stood in a broad mountain valley surrounded by dark pines and silver aspens.
Snow capped the distant peaks.
A creek curved through the meadow.
Smoke rose from a stone chimney.
The house itself was larger than Charlene expected, built of heavy logs with a deep porch.
A barn stood nearby.
So did a smokehouse, chicken coop, root cellar, and woodshed.
It could have been peaceful.
Except nobody spoke when they arrived.
The children climbed down.
Jeb carried Charlene's trunk.
Caleb walked inside first.
Charlene followed.
The cabin smelled of cedar smoke.
A long wooden table dominated the main room.
Blankets lay folded across benches.
Boots crowded the doorway.
A half-mended shirt hung over a chair.
Children's belongings seemed to occupy every corner.
Then Charlene saw the portrait.
Above the fireplace.
A woman.
Beautiful.
Dark-haired.
Serious eyes.
She stood beside Jeb in the painting, one hand resting on his shoulder.
Charlene knew instantly.
Sarah Russell.
The children's mother.
The dead woman whose place everyone believed Charlene had come to take.
Ruth stopped beside her.
“Mama.”
Charlene nodded.
“She was beautiful.”
Caleb entered behind them.
“She was.”
The challenge was unmistakable.
Charlene turned.
“I won't move her portrait.”
Caleb seemed caught off guard.
“I wasn't asking.”
“No.”
Charlene looked at Sarah's painted face.
“But you were wondering.”
Caleb said nothing.
That night Charlene slept in the small spare room downstairs.
Jeb slept in the loft with the boys.
Ruth had a narrow bedroom beside Charlene.
Nothing improper.
Nothing assumed.
For that, Charlene was grateful.
She lay awake listening to the mountain wind.
At midnight, the house creaked.
At one, an owl called.
Sometime after two, a door opened.
Soft footsteps crossed the floor.
Charlene sat up.
Then she heard crying.
Not Toby.
Not Noah.
A girl's muffled sobs.
Charlene wrapped herself in a shawl.
She found Ruth sitting beneath Sarah's portrait.
The girl clutched something against her chest.
A blue dress.
Her mother's.
Charlene stopped.
Ruth noticed her and immediately wiped her face.
“I'm sorry.”
“For what?”
“I'll go back.”
“You don't have to.”
Charlene sat on the floor.
Not close enough to intrude.
Simply near.
Ruth stared at Sarah's portrait.
“Papa thinks we don't remember.”
Charlene looked toward the loft.
“Remember what?”
Ruth's small fingers tightened around the dress.
“The night she died.”
Charlene's breath caught.
Ruth whispered.
“Everybody in town says Mama got sick.”
Charlene waited.
Ruth looked directly at her.
“But that ain't what happened.”
Before Charlene could ask another question, a floorboard creaked behind them.
Caleb stood in the darkness.
His face had gone white.
“Ruth.”
The girl fell silent.
Caleb looked at Charlene.
And the warning in his eyes was stronger than before.
“You don't ask about our mother.”
Charlene understood then that Sarah Russell's portrait was not the only thing waiting for her at Wolverine Ridge.
May you like
The family had a secret.
And somehow, even after only one night, Charlene was already standing dangerously close to it.
