Dorothy Garlock Read Online Free PDF

you had supper?”
    “I had the biscuits and meat you gave me at noon. That’ll hold me till morning.”
    “You can have more of the same. This time you can have butter on the biscuits.”
    Rosalee didn’t wait for him to answer. She slipped quietly into the cabin and felt her way to the workbench and quickly stacked a plate with biscuits and meat. Her fingers groped for a spoon and she went back outside. He had gone back to his horse, slipped off the bridle, and fashioned a rope halter so the animal could crop the grass beneath the pine tree where he had tied him the night before. She went to him, thankful they would be away from the cabin in case her father should awaken.
    “Give me your cup and I’ll get the buttermilk.”
    She went back across the yard to the churn, dipped into it and brought out milk and butter. When she turned he was standing beside the stump, holding the plate and watching her. Some of the milk sloshed onto the ground and she laughed. The sound floated to him lightly on the breeze. He thought it was as musical as the bells in the church in Saint Louis.
    “If you’d come sooner you could have had supper with us.”
    “I don’t think your pa would have liked that.”
    She flinched as if his words were razor sharp. After a hesitation she sat the cup on the stump and turned her face away. “How do you know? He didn’t say anything.”
    “He didn’t have to.”
    “It’s because he’s blind and he’s afraid for us.”
    “Don’t put a different name to it. I knew this morning, when the little girl whispered to him that my mother was an Indian, that he was angry because you had taken us in. I expect you got a dressing down for taking in an Indian
buck
and a sick
squaw.
”
    “I’m sorry you were made to feel unwelcome.”
    “It’s a thing I’ve gotten used to. There are men who hate other men and wish them dead simply because of the color of their skin. Your pa’s one of them. He was brought up to believe that if you’re not white you’re just so much dirt to be trodden underfoot.”
    “Please don’t talk like that,” Rosalee said in a stricken voice. “My mother tried to explain it to me once. She said some people have got to feel superior to someone because they have this feeling of worthlessness inside them. My pa’s had that feeling all his life because he never thought he’d accomplished much. I don’t understand it, and I suspect he doesn’t understand it either. It’s what he was taught. I’m trying to teach Ben and Odell that we are all God’s creatures and there are the good and the bad among all of us.” She gave her head a little shake. “Do you believe me?”
    “I believe you. Unfortunately, you’re among the minority.” He took the cup from the stump and nodded his head. She sat down and he squatted on his heels beside her and stuffed a biscuit in his mouth. “You make a mighty good biscuit.”
    “I should. I’ve made a million of them. They’d be better if you smeared them with butter.” She handed him the spoon. “Dip it into the milk and you’ll find some floating around. Tomorrow I’ll dip out the butter and work the milk out of it.”
    His slow smile altered his face and gave warmth to his stern features. “Fresh butter? I’ve not had fresh butter for a long time.”
    Rosalee laughed softly, suddenly strangely at ease with him. “Sometimes we don’t miss a thing until we get it again.”
    He gave a thoughtful nod, his gaze wandering over her slim body. They sat in silence while he emptied the plate. He turned his head to look at his animals, gave a low whistle, and the wolf dog came to him.
    “Watch the girls, Brutus.” The dog trotted away to hunker down not far from the mare and the foal. He ignored Charlie, who still had play on his mind.
    “Is that his name? Why did you name your dog after a murderer?”
    Logan chuckled in surprise at the question. The sound was so unexpected that Rosalee almost forgot what she asked.
    “Why not?