Wait For The Sunrise Part 5

"Mr. Sutton?" The soft voice made him think of angel voices urging himtoward sleep.

Not so much as a twitch betrayed the fact that he had heard her. Her shoes made light taps on the floor as she came closer to the bed. He ought to lether know he was awake. Somehow, it would have taken more energy than hecould muster.

She pulled the blanket more snugly over his chest. The part of his mind thatwas still conscious was praying she would go, but she seemed to hover overhim. Cautiously, gentle fingers touched his beard with one slow movementfrom his cheekbone to his chin. It brought him fully awake, but he didn't move. Her skirts rustled as she turned quickly away. She took the tray andleft the room in a matter of seconds.

As Winn fully gave in to sleep, he was trying to decide what meaning toattribute to the gentle touch.

Chapter Three.

q^vs^q L-^ynthie was in the garden carefully pulling the gra.s.sthat had come up along with the carrots. It would have been smarter to have done this earlier in the morning while it was cooler, but she had needed totake a look at the books. In less than an hour she had realized she was wasting her time.

She gave a young weed a vicious shake before tossing it away, as if pullingit up might not be enough. Why hadn't Victor let her help with anything?

Why hadn't he at least talked to her about his businesses? She knew the answer; it wasn't "her place." Well, now it was her place, and she was lost.

The freight company she thought Victor had created to give her fathersomething to do had expanded into something more, much more than she hadrealized. The books were filled with records of loans and foreclosures on half a dozen farms. Ott sloan was the only one Victor had ever mentioned.

Cynthie had found the ledger where he kept the cattle records, but by thattime her mind had been so full of figures warring with one another that shehad set it aside for another day. She had come out to the garden to try to clear her mind, but it hadn't worked. She stood up, brushed the dirt off her ap.r.o.n and stretched to ease the achein her back. She had weeded nearly half the garden. The rest would have to wait until tomorrow. Her back had taken about as much as it could, and shehad a son and a patient to check on.

Inside the kitchen she found Greg on a chair trying to reach the cookie jar.

"I'm packing a lunch," he said quickly.

"Winn and me's going to eat on the porch. Can you slice us some bread and

cheese?"

"It won't be shady on the porch until almost noon," Cynthie lifted Greg off the chair and moved the cookie jar to the table where he could reach it.

"The clock already chimed twelve times."

Cynthie laughed.

"You can't count past seven." She lifted a basket from a hook in the ceiling

and set it on the table.

"Winn told me." Greg ate a cookie from one hand as he set more aside withthe other.Cynthie hadn't realized it was so late. She cut thick slices of bread and cheese and wrapped them in pieces of cloth."Can I come to this picnic?"They heard a door open and close and looked at each other in surprise.Greg ran to the doorway. "We're in here, Winn," he shouted."My hearing's fine. Just tell me if there's anything between us. I'll head for your voice."

"Naw, you're all right. You just come on. Mama wants to know if she cancome to the picnic." Greg's tone made it clear that he had not invited her."Of course she can," Winn said. He had reached Greg and stood with one hand on the door frame.

"A gentleman's always glad for a lady's company."

Greg didn't look like he agreed but his face quickly brightened.

"Will you make lemonade?"

Cynthie smiled.

"Fetch some cold water from the well," she told him and he ran to comply.

"Would you care to sit down, Mr. Sutton?" Cynthie offered as she went to the cupboard for the pitcher and gla.s.ses.

"No, ma'am," he said."I would like to ask you if you know where my friends are.""Mr. Grady and Mr. Jackson? I understand they returned to the herd."She sliced a lemon in half and the tangy fresh scent made her breathe deeply."I love the smell of lemons.""Do you know when they left?"Cynthie stopped squeezing the lemon and regarded him thoughtfully."I'm sorry, Mr. Sutton, I thought they would have told you. They left yesterday, about the same time you came here." Cynthie watched bothdisbelief and anger flash across Winn's face. She spoke softly, hoping torea.s.sure him.

"They promised to return for you after they got the herd to Abilene.""Why would they leave unless..." He seemed to be talking to himself.Cynthie came around the table toward him. She stopped short of touching him as he spoke again.

"Did the doctor say how long before I can see again?"

"When the swelling goes down you'll probably get your sight back," she said

kindly, "But that could take several days."

He seemed to brace himself against the door frame. She reached toward him, wanting to comfort him, to

let him know he wasn't alone, but she heard Greg struggling with the back door and turned toward him.

While Cynthie held the door, Greg came in and set the half-filled bucket on the floor.

"That's heavy!" He scrambled onto a chair and reached for the cookie jaragain, only to have Cynthie s.n.a.t.c.h it away and put it back on the shelf. Shereturned with the sugar canister.

"Help Mr. Sutton to the front porch, young man," she half scolded.

"I'll be along with the lemonade in a few minutes."

Winn turned when the child took his hand. He hadn't seen the attemptedcookie theft, but he had heard the mother's tone. When Greg whispered,"She's mean," on their way to the front door, he didn't know what to think.She seemed to change too quickly.

Several things didn't make sense. This was obviously a large two-storiedhouse; he had heard footsteps overhead during the night. He remembered howMrs. Franklin's skirts had rustled. The calico dresses he had seen mostwomen wear in these prairie towns did not rustle. The sound had made himthink of his sister. Even her skirts probably didn't rustle now. It allmade him wonder why he had been brought here. Surely his friends wouldn'thave left without telling him.

Was there something he wasn't remembering, something the doctor had told him?

He rubbed his bandaged forehead. So much of his recent memory was cloudy.

A faintly familiar clattering seemed a part of his confused brain.

"You all right?" There was an insistent tug on his

elbow. He realized he was sit ting in a porch swing and Greg was climbing on his leg.

He lifted the boy and settled him onto his lap. It seemed the natural thingto do. Greg was probably the age his nephew had been the last time Winn hadseen him. That would be nearly three years ago. He had a niece now, too, aniece he had never seen.

Greg leaned against his chest.

"You scare me when you look so sad."

Winn wrapped the boy in his arms.

"It's just a headache," he whispered.

The clattering continued. He could place its location now, above him and tothe right. The rise and fall of the sound told him it was influenced by thewind. He realized he had heard it the other times he had been on this porch.

Cynthie came through the door and set a tray on a table at his left.

His arms tightened automatically around the child, prepared for her objection.

Cynthie stood still, the basket over one arm, watching Winn rock her son.

In less than twenty-four hours Greg had accepted Winn so completely he couldcurl up on the man's lap. They made quite a picture. Her baby, who wasgrowing up so quickly, looked very tiny again. Yet Greg's friendship withthis stranger was based in part on the fact that he could help someone elsefor the first time in his life.

She began to feel awkward and broke the spell. In a conspiratorial whispershe said, "If you rock him to sleep we can have all the lemonade."

Greg sat up so quickly he nearly slid off Winn's lap. He scrambled onto the porch railing and straddled it.

"Put my lunch here," he said, patting the flat board between his legs.

Cynthie handed him the cloth that contained his portion of bread and cheese.

"I guess if you fall it won't be the first time," she said.

Winn wondered where the boy was and if the boy was really in danger offalling. The mother didn't sound truly concerned. He took the cloth-wrappedportion she gave him, and when she asked where he would like her to set hislemonade, he answered, "Perhaps I should wait until I've finished this, ma'am. I also wanted to suggest a tin cup. I'm afraid I'll break something."

"I want a tin cup, too," announced Greg through a mouthful of bread.

Winn heard the musical sound of a spoon being turned in a liquid-filled gla.s.s.

"Lemonade, gentlemen, is always served in gla.s.s." He heard a gla.s.s beingfilled and set down on wood. This was followed by a definite slurping sound,and Winn had to smile. "Coffee and milk," Cynthie added, "can be served intin cups."

"Goody," slurred the boy around the gla.s.s.

Cynthie took her lemonade and sat on the top step. Her face was in the shade of the overhang but her legs were in the warm sunlight. She was brieflytempted to pull her heavy skirts up and let the sun beat directly on herstockinged calves. She wondered what this Virginia gentleman would think ofthat. But she couldn't do it even though she knew he wouldn't see her.

The warm weather made her think of wading in streams and running barefoot inthe fresh gra.s.s, things Victor had frowned on but she and Greg had done anyway. This spring she had been too busy to think of games.

"Let's go fishin'," Greg suggested.

Cynthie was pleased that his thoughts had been so close to her own. She was sorry to have to discourage him.

"There are clouds building up in the west. We might get caught in a rainstorm."

"I don't see no clouds."

"That's because we're facing east," Winn said. Into the silence that followed, he asked, "Am I right?"

"Yes, you are," Cynthie said.

"How did you know?"

Winn was trying to figure that out himself.

"Maybe I felt the sun this morning" he said.

Cynthie noticed that Winn had finished eating and brought him his gla.s.s of