Nate’s thumb and trigger finger twitched, but he didn’t shoot. “If you are one of Sullivan’s family, I won’t harm you. I’m here with Peter and Erleen. They should show up shortly.”
“Don’t shoot! I’m coming out!”
It was a big-boned woman in a dress and a bonnet, clasping two long knitting needles and a partially knit shawl. She smiled an anxious smile, as if she couldn’t make up her mind whether he was truly a friend, or a foe.
“I am with Peter and Erleen Woodrow,” Nate repeated, lowering his rifle. “I mean you no harm.”
The woman came closer. “Intery, minstery cutery corn, apple seed and apple thorn.”
“What?”
“You’re not really you, are you?”
“Lady, I am as real as you are,” Nate assured her.
“You think I am really real?”
“Of course.”
“If all the world were water, and all the water ink, what should we do for bread and cheese? What should we do for drink?”
“Why do you keep saying nursery rhymes?”
“Why do you not say them?” The woman laughed.
“Are you Philberta?” Nate asked. She answered the description he had been given.
“This little pig went to market, this little pig stayed at home.”
“Talk sense, will you?”
“This little pig had roast beef, this little pig had none.”
“Cut that out. And tell me. Are you Philberta or aren’t you?”
“To be honest, sir, I’m not sure anymore.” She laughed again, a sad sort of laugh. Then she swept a knitting needle over her head and cried, “Let’s see which of us is real!”
And with that she attacked him.
Vanishings
The wild gleam in her eyes, her wild talk, had warned Nate she was unbalanced. He was ready when she lunged. Screeching, Philberta stabbed the knitting needle at his eyes, her face twisted in pure hate.
Nate swept the Hawken up, one hand on the barrel and the other on the stock, blocking her blow. She was strong, this woman. The force jarred him onto his heels. He could have shot her but instead he sought to reason with her, saying, “I’m not here to harm you! Get that through your head.”
“Liar!” Philberta cried, and came at him again. She had the second knitting needle in her other hand, low against her side.
Nate backpedaled. He hadn’t counted on this sort of reception. He’d figured that the survivors, if any, would be overjoyed to see him and learn their relatives were on the way. “Stop it!” he commanded. But she paid him no heed. He dodged a needle to the neck, shifted, and evaded a stab to the groin.
Philberta crouched to try again. She was quick as well as strong, and unless Nate did something, fast, she was bound to skewer him.
“For the last time, I’m not your enemy!”
Philberta grinned. “Jack be nimble, Jack be quick. Jack, jump over the candlestick.”
“Why do you—?” Nate began, and got no further. She came at him, thrusting high and low, and it was all he could do to stay out of her reach.
“Stand still, consarn you!” Philberta’s bosom was heaving and a sheen of sweat dampened her brow. “You are worse than a jackrabbit.” She feinted and went for his groin, but he sidestepped.
Nate had taken as much as he was going to. Springing back, he leveled the Hawken. “The next step will be your last.”
“One, two, buckle my shoe.” Philberta raised both needles. “You might get me but I will get you.”
At the shout, Philberta turned. Shock replaced the hate, shock so profound, she shook from her bonnet to her shoes. “I must be dreaming.”
Ryker and the Woodrows had arrived. Ryker was smirking in amusement, but the Woodrows gaped in horrified disbelief.
Erleen had found her voice first, and now spoke again. “Put down those knitting needles. That man is a friend of ours. He helped us find you.”
“Erleen? Peter?”
“It is indeed us, my dear.”
“Am I seeing things again?” Philberta had forgotten about Nate. She ran a sleeve across her face, and swayed. “It must be the strain. I’ve finally snapped.”
Erleen was clambering from her horse. “Listen Tome, sister-in-law. We’re not figments. We’re real. We were worried when we didn’t hear from Sully and you, so we came west.”
“Oh God.” Philberta looked at Nate, her eyes widening. “What have I done?”
Erleen hastened up, her arms spread wide. “Calm down and give me a hug. I’ve missed you and the others so much.”
Nate tensed. He half feared Philberta would bury the knitting needles in Erleen, but to his relief Philberta let the other woman embrace her. Suddenly Philberta gasped, and stiffened. Her eyes rolled up in their sockets until only the whites showed. Then, with a loud groan, she collapsed and would have fallen if Erleen hadn’t been holding her.
“Peter! I need help!”
Nate was closer. He quickly slipped an arm under one of Philberta’s. “It’s good you came along when you did.”
“What did you do to her?”
The others were rushing to help, all except Ryker, whose smirk had broadened. Peter took over for Nate. Fitch and Harper also helped. Nate opened the door and they carried Philberta inside. Anora and Tyne came after them.
“Where is everyone else?” Erleen asked, glancing about. “Sully and the boys aren’t here.”
“We must set her down,” Peter grunted. “She’s as heavy as an ox.”
“Peter!”
“Well, she is.”
The comment made Nate wonder how she was eating so well when the pantry was so bare. Here he’d been worried the family had starved to death. But if Philberta was any example, they didn’t miss a meal.
“Where are the beds?” Erleen asked.
Only then did Nate realize the cabin had no bedroom. Nor were there any blankets spread on the floor for bedding. Where did the woman sleep? he asked himself.
“Fitch, fetch blankets off our horses,” Erleen directed. “Anora, find a pot, fill it with water from the stream, and put it on to boil. We’ll make some tea. Harper and Tyne, I want you to sit here with your aunt while your father and I have a look around.”
Nate went out, nearly colliding with Aunt Aggie, who was about to enter. “They can use your help in there.”
“Oh, I am sure Erleen has matters well in hand. My sister would make a fine general.” Agatha stepped away from the door as Anora bustled past carrying a pot. “I best stay out of their hair.”
Nate placed the Hawken’s stock on the ground and leaned on the barrel. “So tell me. What is Philberta like when she isn’t trying to stick knitting needles into someone?”
Aunt Aggie didn’t grin as he thought she might. “Perhaps you should ask Erleen. I’ve never been all that fond of Philberta and it might taint your opinion.”
