he’d heard the boy speak. I guess it’s a good sign. Though he didn’t like the way the boy spoke to Betsy.
Betsy seemed unaffected as she skipped back to Maggie’s side and arranged her things in a neat row, humming as she played.
“It’s time to get ready for bed,” Maggie announced, springing to her feet.
Crane handed Betsy a bedroll. She waited as he flicked his into place, then spread hers beside him. He smiled as he ducked to put more wood on the fire. He carried his coffee to the bedding, where he stretched out, his back to a tree.
Betsy watched him, waiting until he was settled before she crawled under the covers at his side.
“Ted,” Maggie called. “Come over here.”
Ted’s shoulders tightened, and he shifted toward the darkness.
“It’s all the bedding we got,” she called again. “You’ll have to share with us.”
His shoulder drew closer to his ear.
Maggie turned toward Crane, her look begging him to do something. He shrugged.
“He’ll get cold,” Betsy whispered.
Crane nodded. “He’s got to make up his own mind.”
A heavy, waiting silence settled uneasily around them. Finally, with a sigh from as low as her shoes, Maggie shifted her attention back to the Bible, still lying on her knees. “Do you suppose I could read some?”
Crane nodded. “Go ahead. Read it out loud.”
She bent her head and carefully opened the pages to the front and began, “ ‘In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth.’ ” Her voice was low and musical.
Crane eased back into a more comfortable position and, beneath his eyelashes, let his gaze skim over the others.
Betsy, her eyes wide and glimmering, a finger wrapped in a corner of the blanket, squirmed around so she could see Maggie.
Maggie’s hair fell around her face like a curtain, moving just enough for the golden light to catch in its strands.
As she read, Ted’s shoulders relaxed, and he stared at his toes, the light from the fire making sharp angles across his features.
Crane let his gaze return to Maggie. He got the same feeling in his chest he got when Rebel nuzzled his nose against his neck. He let the words take him back to the distant rooms of his memory to a time when they had been a happy family—before Pa left and Ma lost hope. Evenings had a special ritual of their own. Pa settled down before the fire with pipe and coffee. Crane sat on a stool, close enough to lean against Ma’s knees. And Ma read aloud from this same Bible.
He drank his cooling coffee. Strange how he had forgotten. Maybe it was why he had kept the Bible; the reason he had put God-fearing as a requirement for his future wife.
Maggie closed the book. “I reckon I better stop for tonight.” She sighed deeply. “It’s so beautiful. I wish I could read it all right away.”
“Me too.” Betsy flipped over on her back. “God made everything. Crane,” she said, fixing him with a demanding gaze, “Did He make me?”
Crane struggled to find the words to explain how a baby was made. “It took a mamma and papa to make you, Child.”
“Of course He did,” Maggie interrupted. “My ma always said God made every sparrow and every flower in the grass. He made every one of us. She said little children are the most special so He made an angel for each one to watch over them.” She turned to Ted. “You remember that, Ted? You remember our mamma saying that?”
Ted shrugged his back toward them, his narrow shoulders creeping toward his ears.
Maggie ducked her head. Carefully she rewrapped the Bible and returned it to the pack before she crawled in beside Betsy. “Ted, it’s getting colder by the minute. Come and lay beside me like we used to do.” But Ted didn’t respond.
Crane tossed out the last drop of coffee and pushed to his feet. He set the empty cup on a rock, then caught up his heavy gray blanket and wrapped it around Ted’s shoulders, ignoring the way the boy stiffened and leaned away. From his saddlebag he pulled out his long
Betsy seemed unaffected as she skipped back to Maggie’s side and arranged her things in a neat row, humming as she played.
“It’s time to get ready for bed,” Maggie announced, springing to her feet.
Crane handed Betsy a bedroll. She waited as he flicked his into place, then spread hers beside him. He smiled as he ducked to put more wood on the fire. He carried his coffee to the bedding, where he stretched out, his back to a tree.
Betsy watched him, waiting until he was settled before she crawled under the covers at his side.
“Ted,” Maggie called. “Come over here.”
Ted’s shoulders tightened, and he shifted toward the darkness.
“It’s all the bedding we got,” she called again. “You’ll have to share with us.”
His shoulder drew closer to his ear.
Maggie turned toward Crane, her look begging him to do something. He shrugged.
“He’ll get cold,” Betsy whispered.
Crane nodded. “He’s got to make up his own mind.”
A heavy, waiting silence settled uneasily around them. Finally, with a sigh from as low as her shoes, Maggie shifted her attention back to the Bible, still lying on her knees. “Do you suppose I could read some?”
Crane nodded. “Go ahead. Read it out loud.”
She bent her head and carefully opened the pages to the front and began, “ ‘In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth.’ ” Her voice was low and musical.
Crane eased back into a more comfortable position and, beneath his eyelashes, let his gaze skim over the others.
Betsy, her eyes wide and glimmering, a finger wrapped in a corner of the blanket, squirmed around so she could see Maggie.
Maggie’s hair fell around her face like a curtain, moving just enough for the golden light to catch in its strands.
As she read, Ted’s shoulders relaxed, and he stared at his toes, the light from the fire making sharp angles across his features.
Crane let his gaze return to Maggie. He got the same feeling in his chest he got when Rebel nuzzled his nose against his neck. He let the words take him back to the distant rooms of his memory to a time when they had been a happy family—before Pa left and Ma lost hope. Evenings had a special ritual of their own. Pa settled down before the fire with pipe and coffee. Crane sat on a stool, close enough to lean against Ma’s knees. And Ma read aloud from this same Bible.
He drank his cooling coffee. Strange how he had forgotten. Maybe it was why he had kept the Bible; the reason he had put God-fearing as a requirement for his future wife.
Maggie closed the book. “I reckon I better stop for tonight.” She sighed deeply. “It’s so beautiful. I wish I could read it all right away.”
“Me too.” Betsy flipped over on her back. “God made everything. Crane,” she said, fixing him with a demanding gaze, “Did He make me?”
Crane struggled to find the words to explain how a baby was made. “It took a mamma and papa to make you, Child.”
“Of course He did,” Maggie interrupted. “My ma always said God made every sparrow and every flower in the grass. He made every one of us. She said little children are the most special so He made an angel for each one to watch over them.” She turned to Ted. “You remember that, Ted? You remember our mamma saying that?”
Ted shrugged his back toward them, his narrow shoulders creeping toward his ears.
Maggie ducked her head. Carefully she rewrapped the Bible and returned it to the pack before she crawled in beside Betsy. “Ted, it’s getting colder by the minute. Come and lay beside me like we used to do.” But Ted didn’t respond.
Crane tossed out the last drop of coffee and pushed to his feet. He set the empty cup on a rock, then caught up his heavy gray blanket and wrapped it around Ted’s shoulders, ignoring the way the boy stiffened and leaned away. From his saddlebag he pulled out his long
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