“Doesn’t feel like any bones are broken.” Without looking up, she pulled his sock back onto the foot. “You were lucky.”
“That’s me. Lucky Luke Smith.”
Emily snorted.
After they ate a hasty midday meal, Emily and Peabody went out to work in the fields, leaving Luke sitting in the rocker. When he was sure they were gone, he put his hands on his thighs and squeezed as hard as he could, working the muscles. He had succeeded in covering up his reaction so Emily and her grandfather hadn’t noticed it, but it had hurt like blazes when that crate fell on his foot, the most sensation he had felt in one of his feet for a long time. And it had been repeated when Emily poked at the site of the injury.
It excited him as no pain ever had.
He stared at his legs, willing them with every fiber of his being to move, but all he could summon up were a few twitches.
He slumped back in the rocking chair, suddenly breathless and exhausted.
Hope that someday he might be able to have the things he most wanted . . .
Emily.
And vengeance.
CHAPTER 19
Over the next few days, Luke struggled against the impatience he felt as he looked for another sign that his legs might be improving. Any time he was alone at the cabin, he moved them as much as he could, sometimes unconsciously straining his other muscles until he was breathing hard and sweat popped out on his face. He rubbed his legs and then pounded on them in frustration when they failed to respond as much as he wanted them to.
One day he lifted himself out of the chair with his crutches, then let them fall to the sides in the hope he could force himself to stand.
He fell on his face.
And struggled hard to push himself up with the crutches to get back in the chair.
He didn’t give up. He worked at it every day and would continue as long as it took.
He didn’t say a word about his efforts to Emily or her grandfather. If he failed—again—he didn’t want them to know about it. There would be time enough later to fill them in if he was successful in learning to walk again.
Emily continued to exercise the muscles in his legs, massaging and working them back and forth.
Several days after his fall she noticed a change. “It may be my imagination, Luke, but it seems to me like your legs are getting stronger rather than weaker.”
“Really? Well, that’s good, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, real good. I knew it was just a matter of time before you started healin’ up.”
He thought she was just trying to be encouraging, but maybe she was more right than she knew. Whenever Emily and her grandfather weren’t around and Luke was on his crutches, he let more of the weight of his body rest on his legs.
At first they had buckled, but as the days went on he was able to stiffen them and partially support himself more than he could before. He still didn’t say anything to Emily or her grandfather. Hope and resolve filled him, but he was wary.
One evening while Emily was inside cleaning up after supper, Luke sat in the rocker on the porch and the old man sat on the steps. Peabody filled his pipe and lit it, then said quietly enough that Emily wouldn’t overhear, “I spotted some fellas on horseback watchin’ the place today.”
Luke tensed, hearing the worry in the old-timer’s voice. “Soldiers?”
“Nope. Civilians. I didn’t get a very good look at ’em, but I could tell that much.”
“What do you reckon they wanted?”
Peabody shook his head. “Don’t know, but Bud Harkness come by today and talked to me. Bud’s got the next farm over. He says there’s some problem with the taxes and he might lose his place.”
“Didn’t he pay them?”
“He did . . . but the judge the Yankees put in charge of such things says that Bud didn’t pay enough. It’s a blamed lie ... but he’s a judge.”
“What’s this fellow Harkness going to do?” Luke asked.
“What
“So he’s going to pack up and leave?”
“I expect so. That’s the smart thing to do.”
“If they’re after his place . . .”
“This one’s next in line,” Peabody said, his voice heavy. “That’s who I think was watchin’ us today. Somebody who works for the varmint who’s got his eye on this place.”
“You happen to know who that is?”
Peabody turned his head to look at Luke in the fading light.
“Wolford.”
The answer didn’t surprise Luke. Vincent Wolford had stepped in to help them that day in Dobieville when they’d had the trouble with the soldiers, but he had seen through the man’s slick facade to the predator underneath. Weighing his words carefully, Luke said, “Maybe Harkness has the right idea. There’s Emily to think of—”
“You mean you think we should run, too?” Peabody snapped. “That ain’t the way you sounded the last time we talked about this, son.”
“I know. I just don’t want anything bad to happen to Emily.”
“You think I do? But you got to remember this . . . gettin’ her to leave wouldn’t be easy. This land . . . well, look at it this way. When her pa and her brothers went off to fight, they figured they were doin’ it to protect our home. This land. Emily still sees it the same way. She’ll feel like she has to defend it, too, just like they did.”
Luke understood that. He felt the same way about the Jensen farm in Missouri. So would his pa and Kirby.
There was no good answer. None at all.
Emily appeared in the doorway behind them, drying her hands on a cloth. “What are the two of you talkin’ about so serious-like?”
“Who says we’re talkin’ serious?” her grandfather said. “I was just tellin’ Luke a joke.”
“I didn’t hear anybody laughin’.”
“That’s because I ain’t got to the funny part yet.” Peabody turned to Luke. “So then the farmer says, ‘You’re all mixed up, mister. That there’s my prize hog.’” He slapped a hand on his thigh and hooted with laughter.
Luke threw back his head and laughed, too, even though on the inside he had seldom felt grimmer.
Using the crutches, Luke lifted himself from the chair and stood beside the table. He took a deep breath and let go of the crutches, allowing them to fall to the sides like he had done before. As they thumped on the floor, he stood with his hands spread, trying to balance himself.
He didn’t fall immediately. He felt the weight on his legs, felt the muscles struggling to support him. But they began to give out, and he had to slap his palms down on the table to hold himself up. Even that was progress, he thought as his pulse pounded in his head. He hadn’t collapsed. Yes, he was leaning on the table, but he was still standing.
A footstep sounded on the porch.
Luke turned his head toward the door, and as he did so, his legs folded up underneath him. He tried to catch himself on the table, but wound up lying on the floor between the chair and the table.
Emily came in and saw him there. “Damn it all to—” She stopped herself. She had been trying to stop cursing so much lately.
He thought maybe she had decided it wasn’t ladylike. . . as if acting more like a lady might have become more important to her.
