I once was lost

by MagdalenMary495

Disclaimer: The characters and situations of the TV program "Big Valley" are the creations of Four Star/Republic Pictures and have been used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended by the author. The ideas expressed in this story are copyrighted to the author.

Part 1

Something was wrong.

Was it his lawyer’s instinct or the eerie quiet that tipped him off? He never knew. By the time he’d ridden in view of the house, he felt uneasy.

Jarrod Barkley reined in Jingo, stopping about 30 paces from the front porch.. “What’s gotten into you, Jingo?” he asked the horse. Pulling against the reins, Jingo pranced in circles trying to turn around. “Whoa, boy, settle down!” Jarrod struggled to control the spooked animal. At the same time, he stared hard at the house for signs of life. Where was everyone?

Why was it so quiet?

Usually, by the time he’d ridden this far, he’d have heard the sounds of his family welcoming him home. The slamming of the screened door...that would be Nicky. Running as fast as his chubby legs would carry him, the wooden sword Heath had carved for him held high in one hand. With the other hand, he’d be holding up an empty gun belt of Nick’s. At each step he’d risk tripping and falling over the passel of collie pups galumphing around his feet, nipping his heels in excitement.

“Nicholas Heath Barkley! How many times have you been told to close that door properly?”

Louisa. Louisa would be coming out on the porch, throwing her hands up in mock despair at ever teaching their son civilized manners. After Beth, he’d thought he might never marry again. Louisa had changed that. Gently smiling Louisa with her quiet strength and the most melting blue eyes he’d ever seen. His Louisa. He often thought of her as a poet had written, “a resting place, a shelter from the storm.”

Puzzling, that Louisa or Nicky hadn’t heard him ride up. And Jenny? Where was Jenny?

Odd he’d been able to ride all the way to the house unaccompanied. Ever since Nick had taught Jenny to ride, he’d rarely been able to ride this far without Jenny swinging herself on her Indian pony and galloping out to meet him. He asked her often to tell him how she knew just when he had ridden in the far gate of what Heath and Nick jokingly called, “Barkley Ranch South.”

Giggling, blue eyes sparkling, she’d tease, “It’s a secret and I’ll never tell.”

“Louisa!” He called. “Jenny! Nicky!”

Silence. So empty of human sound that he heard chickens clucking on the far side of the barn, the impatient stamping of a horse nearby. His home should not be this quiet. It was never this quiet.

The dogs, he thought suddenly, tasting fear. Where are Nicky’s puppies? There were five golden collies who thought it their duty to announce every arrival on the ranch no matter what time of day or night. Jarrod thought ruefully of the many nights he’d been jerked awake by frantic puppies chasing a rabbit past the

house. Strange the pups would let him ride this close without raising a ruckus.

“Louisa! Nicky! Jenny! Nate!”

Where was everyone? Nate, his foreman should be nearby. Or Nate’s wife, Bonita. Where were they?

Slowly, Jarrod dismounted. Jingo snorted, shying away from the house. Wham! A sudden burst of wind caught one of the barn doors, banging it open. Startled, Jarrod reached for a gun he wasn’t wearing. “Jumpy, aren’t we Counselor?” he chided himself. Trying to shrug off the disquiet he felt, he pulled an unwilling Jingo briskly toward the hitching post and tied him up. They’d just gone off somewhere he told himself. But where? To town? Visiting? No. Jarrod could see the surrey and both wagons sitting near the barn. They wouldn’t have ridden anywhere, not with Louisa expecting a third little Barkley toward the end of the summer. He doubted they’d walked anywhere either...not in this heat.

They were hiding in the house to surprise him. Jarrod felt lighter at the thought. Yes, that was it! He’d told Louisa he’d be back from Stockton in three days. She’d have known what time the train came in, how long it would take to get Jingo from the livery and ride out to their ranch. She’d made a surprise dinner and Jenny and Nicky were somewhere inside hiding, giggling, ready to jump out and grab him when he came in the door. Taking the porch steps two at a time, Jarrod felt happy as he imagined Louisa, flushed from bending over the oven but with that glow in her eyes telling him how much she’d missed him.

“Come out, come out...” the words and his relief both died away as he stepped onto the porch.

He stumbled over something half hidden in the shade of the morning glory vines that made the porch a cool sanctuary from the relentless summer sun. Instantly, any happiness slid away as he bent in disbelief over one of the puppies. He reached to touch it. Shocked, he realized it was dead and had been for several days.

Jarrod stood up, steeled himself against what he might find inside the house and forced himself to open the door. Jingo’s restlessness made sense now. He realized in horror that the scent of death had met him as he neared the house. He knew, in the space from one heartbeat to the next, that he’d denied what he knew almost from the first instant he’d ridden toward the house. Something was wrong.

Nicky lay right inside one hand clenched forever around the wooden sword. Lady, Nicky’s inseparable collie lay beside him. Still alive, she thumped her tail sadly at Jarrod looking up at him with mournful eyes. He knew, even as he knelt to touch the body of his son that he was too late to help Nicky.

“Louisa?”

She’d fallen not far from Nicky. Grief seized his heart, squeezing out everything but an unbearable pain. “Louisa!” Jarrod’s face contorted as he knelt beside her laying his face down against hers. So cold...Louisa was so cold..he needed to warm her..to tell her he loved her...Louisa! My Louisa...overwhelmed by the loss, he lost all sense of time...

Later, how long he didn’t know, he remembered Jenny. Where is Jenny?

Reluctantly, Jarrod stood up. He covered Louisa’s body gently with a gaily rose patterned afghan Audra had made for her birthday. It had always been her favorite. Feet dragging, he walked toward the dining room, ripped off the lace tablecloth. He covered Nicky trying not to look. Never would he forget that tiny hand holding that sword. Jarrod felt his stomach clench in an agony he’d never expected to feel. Nicky, Nicky...why? Why would anyone kill a little boy?

He searched the house, a house he saw now through dark, sorrow filled eyes. It had been vandalized he noticed with one part of his mind. Books thrown out of the cases, the sofa in the parlor ripped open, drawers upturned and dumped out. He stepped through broken glass. Reaching down to pick up a photograph of Mother with her grandchildren. Another tearing pain went through his heart. How will I tell Mother? Or Nick and Heath? Audra?

Jenny. Where was Jenny?

Hoping against hope, he called her name. “Jenny!”

His only answer was silence.

Searching through the rooms, the memories of happier days threatened to overwhelm him. Once, he leaned against the door lintel of the bedroom he and Louisa had shared. Sobs shook his body as he stared at the cradle waiting beside the bed. A cradle for Thomas or Caroline who would never be born. Why? Why? Why? Who would do this? With dragging feet, he searched the house for his daughter’s body. Could he bear finding her too..his firstborn?

She wasn’t in the house. He found two more puppies, one in the kitchen and another on the back porch. To his relief, he found the upstairs hadn’t been touched. Everything was still in place. He’d never spend another night in this house but still, in all the horror downstairs it helped to know the children’s room hadn’t been violated. It was small comfort.

“Jennifer Victoria Barkley! Answer me!”

The barn? Had she seen trouble coming and hidden in the barn? Stumbling back downstairs, Jarrod forced himself to walk past Nicky and the grieving Lady, down the porch steps and into the barn.

Inside the barn, he found Nate. The older man half lay, half sat against some sacks of grain. At first, by the blood staining the front of his once blue shirt, Jarrod feared he too was dead. Until Nate’s eyes opened slowly. He reached up limply, his hand falling back down with that slight effort.

“Mr. Barkley,” his whisper so faint, Jarrod had to kneel almost to his face to hear.

“Nate, what happened? Who did this?”

“Men,” Nate mumbled struggling to form words. Jarrod noticing Nate’s dry, cracked lips carefully helped Nate to a sitting position against the grain sacks. He ran out to Jingo, pulled the canteen off his saddle and hurried back into the barn. Carefully slipping an arm around Nate, he eased him up and guided the canteen toward his mouth.

Nate drank eagerly, coughing, sputtering, licking moisture into his lips. He struggled to sit straighter, “I...I...”

“Take your time,” Jarrod cautioned, knowing time was not something Nate had much of, “Do you know where Jenny is?”

Nate’s eyes rolled back into his head. NO! “Nate!”

It was a relief to see the man force his eyes open, trying to focus on Jarrod’s face.

“Men came..”

“Did you know them? Had you seen them before?” Jarrod tried to steady his need for answers with how far he could push a dying man.

“Never seen...maybe one...five men..”

Nate’s eyes began to glaze. He didn’t have long. “Nate! Jenny, did you see Jenny?”

A smile formed on Nate’s lips, softened the grizzled face, “Sure, sure, little missy’s off ridin’ that pony of hers...”

Glancing up, Jarrod felt his heart surge with hope. Fancy’s stall was empty. Could she have ridden for help? Gotten away?

“She and Nicky out ridin’...”

Hope died. Nate was talking out of his head Jarrod realized. Nicky would never go riding again. And Jenny?

“Bad men...” Nate whispered with his dying breath. “Snake man....”

Gently, Jarrod laid Nate down, closing his eyes. Grim faced, he picked up a saddle blanket and threw it over the man’s face. Who had done this? Why? Where is my daughter?

Frantic now Jarrod tore through the barn, climbing up into the haymow. “Jennifer!” Where else to look? The treehouse? Holding tight to that scrap of hope, he ran out of the barn, back past the house, climbed the plank ladder into the treehouse. Empty. Empty. Where was Jenny? Where was Jenny? Had she died too or gotten away?

“Jenny! Answer me!”

As he ran toward the house again, he saw Fancy in the pasture to the west of the orchards. “Fancy!” he called and whistled. The pony came willingly to the fence, nickering eagerly. By her prancing and impatient pawing of the ground, she’d been denied her oats too long. No chance, no hope that Jenny had ridden this pony in days.

Jarrod turned not knowing where to look, where to go. He felt his grip, the tight rein he held on his emotions slipping. Help. He needed help.

Catching hold of Jingo, he mounted, turned toward town and pushed the horse to run. His mind throbbing to the rhythm of Jingo’s pounding hooves, “Where are you, Jenny? Where are you?”

Part 2

A tragedy...pure an' simple.

Sam Houston McCafferty poured himself a cup of coffee, eased his tired old bones into the creaking chair behind his desk and went back to pondering.

“Ya seen a lot, Sam, old codger,” he said, having picked up the habit of talking to himself more years ago than he cared to count. Shaking his head sadly over all the memories, Sam took a cautious sip of coffee, leaned back and stretched both feet up on his desk. Ah, that relieved the pain in his back a mite.

Being Sheriff of Salinas, he reckoned he’d seen more tragedy than most. But that trouble out at the Barkley Ranch South, well, he couldn’t deny it still haunted him nights...

It’d been a fair day at first. Sam had broken up a fistfight outside the Livery between two boys who oughta know better. Specially in this danged heat. A man who hadn’t got sense enough not to brawl when he was already dripping sweat standing in the shade, well he hadn’t got sense enough to fill a tin cup. After lunch, he’d helped the little Simpson girl find her missing puppy. Then not much of anything goin’ on in that lazy afternoon. He’d been half dozing on the bench in front of the Sheriff’s Office when Jarrod Barkley came tearin’ in that day.

Considerin’ how Sam said, “Howdy, Mr., Barkley, you back from Stockton already?” not a few hours before, he thought it strange the man would be ridin’ back into town that soon. And ridin’ a horse that way! Knowing the Barkley family for years he’d never seen ‘em ride an animal so . . . frothy and panting so hard his sides heaved in and out. And Mr. Barkley’s face. Sam shuddered at remembering the cold chill of seeing Mr. Barkley’s face. He knew from that first look at Jarrod’s tortured face somethin’ bad had happened out there.

“Course, knowing ain’t the same as hearin’.”

“Shock a’ my life,” Sam told the rapidly cooling cup of coffee. Mrs. Barkley and little Nicky . . . murdered. Why there wasn’t a soul he knew in this town or anywhere within a couple of a hundred miles who considered Mrs. Barkley any less than a saint. A kinder hearted woman he’d never known. Doin’ for anybody day or night. And that littleun...as a lawman Sam had seen death more times than he cared to remember...but that little boy, clutching onto that sword. Well! It wasn’t a sight he’d be forgetting this side of the grave. And Mr. Barkley, half out of his mind with worry and grief over that little girl. Sam sighed. He gave up all pretense of enjoying his coffee.

In his heart, he’d expected to ride out to the ranch and find the little girl’s body too. He’d gotten together some men and they’d ridden back out there real quick. Right away they’d found the foreman’s wife, shot in the back as she’d run off for the woods back of the house. Later, Bill Thompson found three of the ranch hands. All dead. Scattered like fallen apples in the orchards. Seven people dead....

Poor Mr. Barkley. He wouldn’t even go back in the house. Just sat on the porch, his face buried in his hands while some of the men took care of the buryin’. Waiting. Maybe hoping they’d find the little girl.

Sam had the ideal himself that maybe Mr. Barkley just hadn’t noticed the little girl in his shock. He might’ve walked right by her an’ not seen. If no one else had survived an’ even all but the Mama dog shot up...well...Sam felt a little peaky in his stomach just rememberin’ that scene...didn’t stand to reason the little girl was still alive. He’d also wondered if mayhaps someone took the little girl. Wasn’t no secret the Barkleys were rich as all get out. One of the richest families in Stockton and maybe all of California. . Someone might have taken the little girl for ransom. Course, Sam had thought then, they could’ve taken the boy too. Two was worth more than one. Strange someone would leave the little boy if they had ransom in mind.

Sighing, Sam pulled his legs off the desk. “Stiff today, ain’t cha, Sam?” he said as he got to his feet. Scratching the stubble on his face, he considered maybe gettin’ a shave later. After this business was over. Might give a man something to look forward to. Might help him forget...seven people dead, a month gone by and still no clue who or why.

He walked out the door of his office, searched up and down the street. Where was that boy?

“Jake! Jake Ingram..c’mere boy!”

A tall, red haired boy, liberally sprinkled with freckles as big as cinnamon flakes loped up. Doffing a straw hat he drawled, “Y’all want me, Sheriff?”

Taking a coin from his pocket, Sam tossed it to Jake. “Got an errand for you to run. Meet the 1:00 train an’ wait for a Mr. Heath Barkley. When he comes...”

“He Mr. Barkley’s brother? The light haired one?”

“Yeah,” Sam nodded, “you meet him and bring him here.”

“Yes, sir,” the boy pocketed the coin, started off in his lopsided run. Stopped by a shout from Sam, he turned back. “Yes, sir, Sheriff.”

“Not a word about all that went on out there, Jake...” He motioned his head in the direction of the Barkley ranch. “I’d best be the one rakin’ out the bad news.”

Jake nodded agreement. Wasn’t a chore he’d touch with a twenty foot pitchfork.

Sam leaned against the porch railing, dreading the news he had for Mr. Barkley’s brother.

“Course,” he reminded himself, “twasn’t all bad. Findin’ the little girl alive...well...” Sam couldn’t even tell himself, not without feeling quick tears wetting his eyes and that old hard heart of his fixin’ to melt. But finding that little girl alive..even considerin’ how things had turned out since...well, Sam figured it just about renewed his faith in the Almighty.

He’d been searching through the upstairs bedrooms when he thought he heard a small whimper. Sam thought he’d been hearin’ what wasn’t there at first. When he heard the sound again, he followed it to the source.

“Just moved that bed and there she be.”

Wasn’t no doubt she was still alive, not with those wide, blue eyes staring up at him. Too excited then to notice much, Sam yelled down the stairs, “Mr. Barkley! Your little girl’s alive!”

Sam reckoned he’d never seen a man run up a set of stairs so fast. “You old fool, Sam,” he muttered, wiping away a stray tear at that remembered look of joy and relief he’d seen on Mr. Barkley’s face when he’d seen his daughter.

Sad. Real sad the joy hadn’t lasted longer.

“Jenny,” he’d said, reaching out to touch her, hold her.

Sam had tangled with many a fightin’ mad drunk in his time. He’d wrestled with a few wild cats and once he’d gone a few rounds with a grizzly bent on stealin’ his grub. None of that could compare with what happened when Mr. Barkley tried to touch his little girl. Sam figured it like to scared both of them out of ten year’s growth when she went to screaming and kicking, those blue eyes staring off like she was seeing something too horrible to forget. Acted like she couldn’t hear her Daddy, didn’t even know it was him. Took both of them to get a grip on her and even then she didn’t stop fighting.

In the end Mr. Barkley grabbed a blanket off the bed. Took both of them to hold her arms so he could wrap it around her, pinning those hitting hands inside. She’d managed to kick Sam a couple times in the gut before Mr. Barkley caught good hold of her. He pressed her tight against his chest, such a look on his face. Sam figured that look was one of the most terrible he’d ever seen. When they got her in the buggy to take her in to Doc, she stopped the screaming and started in with the most mournful cryin’ Sam had ever heard. Heartbreaking it was...that cryin’.

Sam had stayed around, waiting while Doc dosed her up with laudanum. He’d stopped by a few times in the past month but there hadn’t been much of a change. And Mr. Barkley...Sam scratched at his face again. Might be he deserved that shave when this sad business was over.

“It’s time Mr. Barkley’s family lent a hand.” He told himself. “I done my duty far as I can see. I gotta be searching for the evil animals what done this. Can’t be lookin’ after Mr. Barkley too.”

He wished the train would get in. Near as Sam could tell, Mr. Jarrod Barkley had turned his back on the ranch. Hadn’t stepped foot back in it since they took the little girl out. Wouldn’t even go back to tell Sam what might be missin.” “I don’t care.” Mr. Barkley said when Sam asked.

“He don’t care,” Sam grunted. “Fruit rotting in them orchards. All that livestock to care for..”

Sam had gotten someone out to take care of the animals, look after things left in the house, but he wouldn’t have any idea how to harvest a fruit crop or what to do with all the belongings left in the house. Maybe the brother would know what to do with it all. Maybe he could reach Jarrod too.

“Afternoon, Doc.”

“Sam.” Doc tipped his hat, moved to walk on by, thought better of it and turned back. “Jake told me Mr. Barkley’s brother is coming in today.”

Sam nodded.

“Good, good. Maybe he can talk some sense into his brother.”

“How’s little Jenny today?”

Doc shook his head in anger. “No change! Not now nor ever! The little Barkley girl is hopelessly insane and unless he realizes that, Mr. Barkley is not far behind.”

Tipping his hat in farewell, Doc stalked away.

Sam shook his head. A pity. A real pity. Whoever those men were who caused this tragedy they’d murdered two more souls that day. He wouldn’t have said it to anyone, not even out loud to himself, but Sam often felt it might’ve been better if they’d just shot the little girl too.

The train whistled in the distance. Sam pulled out his watch. “Right on time for once.”

He wouldn’t shirk his duty but how he dreaded facing’ Mr. Heath Barkley.

Part 3

"I can’t hardly believe you, Sheriff."

Heath Barkley figured the closest he could account for how he felt just then was to compare it to the time he’d been thrown by a wild stallion and gut kicked a couple of times. He heard the Sheriff’s words but couldn’t wrap his mind around the enormous meaning behind them. Not ten minutes ago, he’d been getting off the train when a skinny, red-haired boy waylaid him. Then his only thought was to hire a horse and get on out to the ranch. Now . . . he was at a loss to know what to think.

"Dead. Louisa and Nicky dead."

Didn’t seem right somehow. Just when his mind began to accept the awful truth, his memories would go contrary, filling his thoughts with Louisa and Nicky as they were the last time he saw them. Wasn’t but a hop, skip and a jump from those thoughts that his mind focused on Louisa. Might have been wrong to think of his brother’s wife like that, but Heath had always thought Louisa one of the most beautiful women he’d ever known. Inside and out.

Wasn’t just that Louisa, with her rose petal skin and that glossy chestnut hair she wore in a loose bun with wings of hair brushing her cheeks, was pretty as Springtime outside. Or even that Heath himself felt a little weak kneed when she smiled, those blue eyes twinkling. She’d had an inner beauty not many had. Heath recalled how when the family would be together, they’d be laughing and bantering back and forth with Louisa sitting quietly beside Jarrod. At the most fitting moment, she’d come out with a gentle comment or a wise observation that either set them all laughing their fool heads off or marveling at how well she’d spoken exactly what they needed to hear.

And Nicky. For some reason the only memory of Nicky Heath could think of at the moment was the night he was born. Nicky’d come squalling and howling into the world, "Just like your brother, Nick," Louisa had said laughing. A while later, when he’d stopped crying, he’d gotten a questioning look on his face as he calmly studied their faces. "Now he looks like Heath," Jarrod said. "Then he will carry both your brothers’ names," Louisa stated firmly. Overriding Jarrod’s wish that they name the boy Thomas after his father and Andrew after hers.

Sheriff McCaffrey motioned him to sit. Heath pulled up a chair, sat down heavily. Just hearing the news laid a weight across his shoulders it’d be hard to bear. "What happened?"

"Near as I can figure out, they were murdered about a month ago . . . "

"Murdered!" Heath jumped up. Shock enough to hear they were dead, but murdered? He’d expected to hear they’d died in a buggy accident or a fear, anything common . . . bur murder. Who would murder a woman with a heart as big as Louisa’s? And Nicky . . . it didn’t make sense.

Heath had only one question, "Who?"

Sheriff McCaffrey shook his head sadly, "Can’t say and it sticks in my craw to admit in’ it."

"You don’t have any idea?"

"No, son, sad to say I don’t. Oh, I got a posse together and we went out every day for two weeks. Found some tracks runnin’ through the far orchard that went on up into the foothills..." Pausing, the Sheriff relived that failure for about the hundredth time. Much as he hated to, he shared the realization he’d come to when they lost the tracks on rocky ground and hadn’t been able to pick them up again. "We lost ‘em somewhere thereabouts and couldn’t pick ‘em up again. Can’t say we ever will."

"I don’t understand."

"Can’t say as how I understand either, Mr. Barkley." The Sheriff stretched, walked toward the potbellied stove and poured himself coffee from an enamelware pot. He held out a mug to Heath who shook his head no. "All we know is that when Mr. Barkley got there before the foreman died."

"Nate’s dead too?"

"Sorry, should’ve told you that at the beginning." Sitting back down, the Sheriff braced himself to tell the whole tragic story. "Seven of ‘em dead out there. Mrs. Barkley, the little boy, the foreman and his wife and three of the hand."

Heath tried to draw a deep, steadying breath. He couldn’t Trying to breathe meant a sharp pain each time he inhaled a breath and tried to let it out. How much worse could this get? Somehow, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

"Like I was sayin’," the Sheriff went on, "Nate, he lived long enough to tell Mr. Barkley there were five men."

"Did Nate know the men?"

Another sad shake of his head. "No. He told your brother he might’ve seen one once but he passed on before he could say more."

Five men. Heath felt a surge of the hottest anger he’d ever felt at anyone. "Why?"

Heath didn’t realize he’d spoken the question out until the Sheriff answered. "Robbery. Pure and simple. Whoever they were, they tore that house to pieces. Got one of Mrs. Barkley’s friends to go back out there with me. Accordin’ to her there was some silver and jewelry missin’ but most probably they was after the money. You knew about the safe?"

"The one behind the wall of the fireplace?"

Sam nodded. "Busted open, all the money gone. Got Mr. Barkley to admit there was near about $10,000 in there. Said his wife would’ve had to open it. Said the children didn’t even know it was there."

$10,000

"Don’t it seem like their lives should have been worth more than that, Sheriff?"

Sam agreed. He stared down into the empty coffee mug, waiting. It didn’t take him long to figure out something else wasn’t right. That Mr. Heath Barkley was smart as a whip.

"Sheriff, you said this all happened about a month ago?" At Sam’s nod, Heath looked confused, "Then I don’t understand. I just got a telegraph from my brother three days ago.."

Sam watched Heath try to figure it out, his brows knit in puzzlement. Better just own up an’ get the rest of this sorry story out in the open. "Need help on the ranch. Send Heath. Jarrod."

Heath’s eyes widened. "How’d you know that?"

"Maybe cause I’m the one who sent that telegraph."

"Why?"

Standing up, Sam went to stand by the open door, peering out into the dusty street. A small wind whipped swirls of dirt along the boardwalks. Two women went by, their skirts sailing around their feet, hands held firmly on top of their bonnets to keep them on. "It’s fixin’ to storm," he said turning to look back at Heath. The sheriff took a deep breath. Best get bad news over with quick and started in with an explanation.

"Mostly it’s because of the little girl."

"Jenny? You said she and Jarrod were still alive."

"Yeah, they’re still . . . alive."

Heath noticed the Sheriff’s slight hesitation. "What is it you aren’t telling me?"

"The little girl’s gone mad. Ain’t no other way to say it an’ that’s a fact."

Horror, Heath had often discovered, felt like a dunking in a cold mountain stream. You swam to the top, trying to come out and it kept pulling you under.

Sam braced his feet firmly on the floor. "Wish I didn’t have to be the one to tell you this. Your niece was in that house when all that went on with her Mama and brother. The doc here, he thought she was just in shock first, she’d come out of it. She didn’t."

Grasping at the only straw of comfort he could find, Heath spoke up. "The same thing happened to our sister, Audra, once. She . . . "

"Yeah," Sam motioned for him to stop, "Your brother told me about your sister’s friends the Millers bein’ killed and all. Gave him some hope for a while too."

"Surely something can be done for Jenny. She’s just a little girl."

Sam hurried the words out, this part he didn’t relish none in the telling. "Well now, that’s just what your brother thought. When Doc couldn’t help, didn’t give her no hope atall, your brother he decided to sent up to San Francisco for a specialist."

"Did he come?"

"Oh, he come all right," Sam answered. Paused and forced himself to get on with it. He’d faced down outlaws with more courage than this. "Fancy doctor he come and looked the little girl over. Says he to your brother, ‘in China they know what to do for such children.’ Jarrod, he jumps up, all eager like and says, ‘tell me what they do in China and I’ll do it."

"What’d the doctor say?"

"Mr. Barkley, it ain’t pretty but I figure you got a right to know. That fancy specialist says, ‘in China they take such children to the top of a mountain and leave them there.’"

Heath clenched his fists, enraged at such a man. Sam noticed. "Yup, that’s pretty much what your brother’s reaction was too. Took three of us to pull him away from tryin’ to strangle that doctor with his bare hands. I’m kind of wonderin’ if all this tragedy hasn’t unhinged your brother a little too. Not . . . " He hastened to add as he saw Heath start to rise in anger . . . "that I wouldn’t have done the same thing myself."

"Where are they?" Heath’s grim face told the Sheriff he’d about said all he could.

"You know where Mrs. Nelson’s Boarding House is"

"I know." Picking up his hat, Heath turned to leave.

"You’ll find them in that cabin behind out past Mrs. Nelson’s barn."

Sheriff McCaffrey stood up, reached over the desk and grabbed Heath’s arm to stop him. "Mr. Barkley, I gotta tell you this one last thing . . . an’ I’m right sorry I had to tell you any of this. It’s well . . . people are startin’ to complain about the little girl. She’s gotten . . . " Sam stopped himself from saying "loose" From the mean set look on Heath’s face that wouldn’t have been wise atall, " . . . gotten away a couple a times, wandered off. Some folks are saying’ it’s time Mr. Barkley thought about putting her away somewhere. Maybe you can talk him into."

"Thanks for telling me all this, Sheriff."

"It’s my duty," Sam answered feebly, "was just doin’ my duty." He watched Mr. Heath Barkley walk toward the Boarding House. "Duty!" He told himself, "Miserable duty."

Part 4

“Heath!”

Shock. Resignation. Maybe a flicker of despair in Jarrod’s haunted blue eyes as he answered Heath’s firm knock on the door.

“What are you doing here, Heath?” He asked in a cold, flat tone.

Heath fought to control the shock that must show on his own face. This was not the brother he knew. Not the well-dressed, confident attorney, Jarrod Barkley, Esquire but a stranger. How long, Heath wondered, had it been since Jarrod’s face had last been touched by a razor. Or judging by his rumpled, sweat-stained clothes, a bar of soap? Maybe when Beth died Jarrod’s dark rimmed eyes held the same desperation but even then Heath didn’t remember Jarrod looking so worn down . . . so beaten. Anguish carved such a tortured expression across Jarrod’s face that Heath felt a twist of pain squeezing his heart.

“What are you doing here?” Jarrod asked again.

Without waiting for an invite from Jarrod, Heath pushed past him into a dim room that looked to be part parlor part kitchen. The few pieces of furniture Heath could make out in the gloom were old and shabby. A sharp contrast to Louisa’s bright, comforting rooms out at the ranch. Heath couldn’t say exactly how Louisa had made the place homey, but he held a picture in his mind of golden sunlight glinting off polished copper pans, potted red geraniums and maybe the warm scent of fresh baked bread inviting you into her warm, happy kitchen. Here, oppression hung in the air so thick, Heath wrestled a desire to run back outside. With the curtains drawn at the windows the room was too dark and depressing.

He took off his hat, couldn’t find a place to hang it. Gingerly, he laid it on a rickety wooden table sloppy with dirty dishes, spilled milk turned sour and a fine patina of dust. The floor felt gritty under his feet. Looking around, he saw no sign of Jenny.

“Maybe I should be askin’ you the same thing? What are you doin’ here, Jarrod?”

Reluctantly, Jarrod closed the door., shutting out the dark storm clouds gathering toward the west. The Sheriff had spoken about one heck of a storm fixing to blow up outside. Heath’s emotions churned like a storm brewing inside too. Walking from the Sheriff’s office, his anger had started to simmer. Folks said he was the Barkley who took things mostly in stride, the one least likely to boil over like Nick. On his way to the grim rooms Jarrod sought to hide in, Heath’s anger boiled over. Wait till he saw big brother, he’d knock him from one side of daylight to the other. How dare he keep news like this from the family? A month! Mr. Proper Barkley without the decency to let them know Louisa and Nicky were gone.

Seeing Jarrod, the way he shuffled like an old, old man to light a lamp, Heath’s anger cooled. He felt pity more than anything else.

“Louisa and Nicky,” Jarrod answered in a monotone, speaking like a man saying words to convince himself they were true, “they’re dead.”

“Sheriff McCaffrey told me.”

Relieved, Jarrod sighed. “Then you know.”

Hands shaking, Jarrod fumbled three times to put the lamp chimney back on the lamp he’d lit. It’s feeble glow did little to lighten the gloom.

“Jarrod, why didn’t you tell us, send word?” Heath found that the bitterest truth to swallow, that Jarrod had shut them out like he had. Not that Jarrod hadn’t kept the truth from them on other occasions . . . trying to protect them. He’d been a Barkley long enough to know Jarrod kept more inside than he let anyone know . . . but this . . .

Heath didn’t expect the torment or rage on Jarrod’s face. In agony, he watched Jarrod struggle to control his emotions. He wanted to help but didn’t know how. “Tell them how, Heath? How would you tell Mother her daughter-in-law and grandson were murdered? Or Nick? Can you imagine having to tell Nick?” Jarrod’s voice broke. “He loved Nicky so.”

“So did I,” Heath answered quietly.

“It was all my fault,” Jarrod stated, shoulders slumped with the weight of imagined blame.

Heath reached out, tried to grab hold of Jarrod’s arm. Jarrod brushed him away. “Jarrod, the Sheriff said there were five men. What could you have done against five men? If you’d been there the Sheriff would have found another body.”

“I could have done something, Heath!” Jarrod ground out, “They were murdered because I wasn’t there! I should have been there to protect my wife...” he chocked over the words, “my children. Where was I when they needed me most?” Rubbing his hands over his face, Jarrod paced around the room, caged in grief.

“Jarrod, there’s not a man alive who don’t wish he could change some wrong in the past. You can’t blame yourself for something you couldn’t prevent.”

“Don’t patronize me,” Jarrod said in an ugly voice. Turning his back on Heath, he walked toward the black cook stove. Like a little boy suddenly minding his manners, Jarrod asked gruffly. “Would you like some coffee?” When Heath nodded, Jarrod picked up a blue enamel coffee pot, took off the lid then held both pieces in his hands. He stared at them as if he’d never seen a coffee pot before.

Heath noticed the trembling of Jarrod’s hands, the uncertainty as he stood trying to figure out what to do next. “Let me,” he said, taking the pot from Jarrod’s hand, “I’ll make it.”

Sitting down at the table, Jarrod buried his face in his hands. Heath searched the battered tin canisters on the cabinet, found one of coffee, pumped water. He built up a quick fire in the stove keeping his hands busy while his mind raced.

This was out of his depth. He needed help. Jarrod had a month of miring himself in guilt. Stubborn as he was, and he could be as mule cussed as Nick, it wasn’t going to be easy talking sense to him. Nick, Heath thought. He’d get ahold of Nick tomorrow. Between the two of them, they’d get Jarrod to see reason, to bring himself and Jenny home. If he wouldn’t, well, they’d hog tie him if they had to. This might be one of the worst tragedy’s they’d face as a family, but together they’d get through it. It wasn’t right for Jarrod to shut himself and Jenny off like this.

When the scent told Heath the coffee was ready, he found two reasonably clean mugs and poured them both a cup.

Jarrod might need a stronger drink but Heath didn’t offer. More than forgetting, Jarrod needed a clear head. It took Jarrod two hands to hold the mug, lift it to his mouth and drink.

“Jarrod,” Heath sat across from him, braced his feet on the floor, “about Jenny . . . ”

“It’s not good, Heath. She isn’t . . . there. Not the daughter I had before.”

A sudden spattering of ran began to pelt the windows startling them both. “The storm’s broke,” Heath commented. As thunder grumbled, Jarrod stared down at his hands and began to talk like a man starved for someone to listen.

“When we found her . . . she was so scared, Heath. I kept thinking when she felt safe again she’d come around. She didn’t.” His voice trailed off. Deep in thought he stared down forgetting to drink the coffee he held.

Feeling his way slowly, Heath spoke, “Maybe it’s kinda the same thing that happened to Sis when the Miller’s died. They were both in the house where people were . . . Maybe Jenny’s just in shock same as Audra. One day she might just snap out of it.”

“Will she Heath? Can you promise that?”

Heath shifted on the creaky chair. “It’s only been a month, Jarrod. A little girl that badly scared . . . maybe it’ll take longer than a month for her to heal . . . well, maybe that doctor here isn’t any good . . . telling the Sheriff she’s . . . ” Heath shied away from the word, “insane.”

Pushing his hair out of his eyes, Jarrod smoothed it down the back of his head. He rubbed at the tense ache in his neck. “It’s not only what the doctor said. It’s the way Jenny.” He left unsaid what he couldn’t say, “After that first week, the doctor said her mind was gone. He said he’d seen it happen to children captured from wagon trains. He said. some of them were never in their right minds, even when they were rescued. He said the fear drove them. You remember that Parks boy?”

Cold fear washed over Heath. Thinking of the Parks boy, returned to his family after two years with the Apache . . . no one could recall him without horror. Not Jenny, Heath prayed, not that sweet, precious little girl locked up somewhere like an animal. Like Freddy Parks.

“Jarrod, surely it can’t be that bad.”

Not answering the question, Jarrod spoke again in that flat, hopeless voice. “Do you know what it’s like to hear someone you love screaming and screaming and screaming hour after hour and not be able to comfort them? She wouldn’t let me touch her, comfort her. How can you help a child you can’t touch. One who acts like they don’t hear or see you? Do you know how much it hurts?”

“No, Jarrod, I don’t, .” Listen, just listen to him his heart said.

“I got a specialist from San Francisco . . . ” Jarrod’s hands clenched, white knuckled around the mug.

“Sheriff McCaffrey told me.”

Jarrod laughed bitterly. “I’m sure he also told you what his diagnosis was.”

“He was wrong. We’ll find Jenny help somewhere else.”

They were both quiet then, thinking thoughts neither wanted to voice until Jarrod said, “I keep thinking about her being in that house. The Sheriff thought she was all alone maybe two days, two nights. What did she hear or see? Did she call out for me? Was she afraid when I didn’t come?”

“Jarrod, don’t.” Heath laid a gentle hand on Jarrod’s arm.

Rain pattered on the roof. Normal, everyday rain. Ready now, Heath asked, “Where is Jenny?”

Like a man half asleep, Jarrod stood up. Picking up the lamp, he walked over to two doors Heath noticed in the wall across from a lumpy green settee. Opening the door, he motioned Heath to enter. Having heard the horror stories, Heath stepped inside steeling himself, fearful of what he might see.

It was a relief to see the same little girl he’d known all her life asleep on the bed. A small but a sturdy child, dressed in a blue gingham dress. Under dark lashes her sweetly curved face looked paler than normal except for the unnatural flush of her cheeks. That cascade of dark curls, an exact match for Jarrod’s, spilled over a white pillow framing her face with its pert nose and what Nick called a “saucy” mouth. The only jarring mark in the hole picture was an ugly gasp across her forehead.

“She’s so beautiful isn’t she?” Jarrod asked tenderly. He brushed a stray curl back from her face, stroked the flushed cheeks and bent to kiss her.

For the first time, a small, sad smile flit across Jarrod’s face.

“Remember the day she killed the snake?”

It was a relief from the strain to smile. The tightness in Heath’s chest loosened. Looking fondly at Jenny, he remembered. Boy, howdy, he’d never forget that day.

He and Nick had been out at the ranch. Funny, how he couldn’t even remember now what they were talking about with Jarrod and Nate, the foreman. Jenny’d been sitting on a quilt, minding Nicky, in the shade of a tree. Suddenly, she jumped up, ran toward them to tug determinedly on Jarrod’s pant leg.

“Daddy . . . ”

“Jenny, you don’t interrupt when grownups are talking.”

“Yes, Daddy, but . . . ”

Heath wondered now as he had then what was so all fired important that Jarrod hadn’t taken the time to listen. That he’d pushed her back toward Nicky. Obediently, Jenny went back to the quilt, stood there thinking. Making her decision, she’d come back, biting that bottom lip, tugged on Jarrod's pant leg again. “Daddy, I have to tell you . . . ”

“What did Daddy just tell you?”

“But, Daddy . . . ”

Heath always figured Jarrod spoke sharper to her than he need to. He could still see those blue eyes spilling over with tears, Jenny’s little pink mouth crimping. “But, Daddy . . . you gotta listen.”

Jarrod marched her over to the porch, set her firmly down and told her to stay put.

Funny, bringing it back to mind he could see how Jenny waited just until Jarrod had his back turned. She’d hopped off that porch and raced toward the barn before Jarrod got back to the conversation. Heath looking toward the porch saw no need to tattle.

“Now what the devil is Jenny doing dragging that hoe out of the barn?” Nick had let the cat out of the bag. When she heard him, she’d gone running, bumping that hoe behind her toward where Nicky sat cooing on the quilt. By the time they’d run over, Jenny’d made short work of a rattler sunning itself not ten feet from the baby.

“Not four years old and saved her brother’s life, “Jarrod said softly.

Heath laughed in genuine relief, “You should’ve seen your face when you saw that snake.”

A faint, wistful smile passed across Jarrod’s face. “Do you remember what she said, Heath?”

Sobered, Heath nodded. Jenny’d looked up at Jarrod, her tears making dirty tracks on her face.
“You’re the Daddy. You should’ve killed that mean old snake! It made me so scared!”

Jarrod picked up the hand she had tucked under one cheek. Curling her limp fingers around his, he asked, “Do you think she’s still in there. The same little girl we knew?”

“I hope so, Jarrod.” Heath shifted uncomfortably from one booted foot to another. “Jarrod, how’d she get that cut on her head?”

Motioning for Heath to leave the room, Jarrod picked up the lamp and followed. They sat back down at the table.

“Guess Sheriff McCaffrey told you she gets away from me sometimes,” Heath nodded. “I have to sleep some . . . ” Jarrod said desperately, “I can’t watch her every second. She got outside somehow and fell.”

“It’s too much for one person, Jarrod. You need to come home, let the family share this . . . ” He almost said, “burden.” But how could Jenny ever be a burden? “We can help take care of her. “

“Home.” Jarrod said the word so it sounded like a foreign place. Heath knew how he must feel then, like there wasn’t really anyplace you belonged. Nowhere to really call home. He’d traveled that road for years.

“We’ll get the finest doctors, and we won’t give up on Jenny.” Or you, Heath wanted to tell him. You need us as much or more than Jenny does. You may be stubborn as a pig mired in mud but I’m a Barkley too. You’re gettin’ on that train to Stockton if it takes Nick and me both to drag you.

Jarrod shook his head. “I can’t Heath. I can’t take her home like this.”

“You’re too tired to talk tonight, Jarrod. How long’s it been since you last had some sleep?”

“Sleep?” He asked, shaking his head, “I don’t remember.”

“Why don’t you go get some sleep? I’m here now.”

Jarrod stood uncertainly. “Well, maybe I will.”

“You get some sleep and tomorrow we’ll go home to Stockton.” Heath told him not figuring Jarrod would listen . . . yet. He’d fight it first, but in the end, Heath would see he got him home one way or another.

“Heath . . . ” Jarrod stopped at the door of the other bedroom, started to say more then changed his mind. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”



Sleep. Would he sleep or would it elude him again tonight?

Jarrod fell wearily down on the bed not bothering to take his boots off. Strange, he thought, having this whole bed to himself and still he lay on the right side, leaving room for Louisa. Rolling over he pressed his hand against the empty pillow beside his, caressing it, wishing...wishing.... If he could give all the time that ever was and all the time that ever would be for just one second more with Louisa, he’d do it gladly.

What poet wrote it? “It is a fearful thing to love what death can touch.”

A fearful thing...love. After Beth’s death, he’d thought he’d never love again. Yet, he’d loved Louisa deeply. They’d laughed and cried together, made it through good times and tragic, fought...oh, yes, they’d fought but making up was so sweet...such bliss.

Over time he knew the pain would lessen as it had for his father, for Beth. He could think of them now without feeling brittle. As if movement or sound or even thought might shatter him into a thousands shards of pain. Time would heal this raw grief. He knew it with his mind, he’d traveled the road often enough to know the landmarks, but how slow the heart was to recognize them.

Louisa. Nicky. Jenny.

“You never did right by any of them,” he told himself. Now, Louisa and Nicky were gone...irretrievably. And Jenny...hadn’t she gone away too? Somewhere he couldn’t find her?
He had to find Jenny again...the daughter brave enough to kill a rattler. Memories of her riding Fancy, running with arms held wide to hug him haunted his thoughts. He could see her, stamping her foot in frustration when Nicky called him, “Pappy.” “Stop that, Nicky! You just call him that ‘cause Uncle Nick does.” Was it so wrong to want those moments back?

Heath.

It was good Heath had come. Better to have Heath tell the family than to send news in an impersonal letter. He longed with every breath to go home. Back to the ranch or even Stockton but he couldn’t yet. Not while there was a chance of helping Jenny.

Heath didn’t look as if he’d be easy to convince. No, Jarrod could tell Heath was bound and determined to take them back to Stockton.

Lightening lit the room, thunder rumbled across the sky. Sleep, sleep..if he could sleep.

“I failed you, Louisa,” he whispered, “but I won’t fail our daughter.”

Part 5

Almost a year gone by...

As he did so often these days, Heath Barkley let the thought slip into his mind. Almost a year since he’d last seen Jarrod and Jenny. Seemed like he’d been counting the time ever since that last day in Salinas...

Boy howdy, sure was a scorcher today. Heath pulled Charger up beside a small pond. At least there were some tress shading the spot, he thought, leaning face down to splash the cooling water over his hot, dusty face. Cupping his hands, he drank deeply of the cold water. Once he’d satisfied his thirst, he undid the blue bandana from around his neck, wet it and wiped sweat from the back of his neck. Could it get any hotter? His brown shirt was already wringing wet with sweat and here it wasn’t even....he squinted up at the position of the sun...noon yet. A man was a fool to be out in this heat, chasing down mavericks that hadn’t got sense enough to stand somewhere quiet in the shade. Heath reckoned he was just about ready to go find Nick and tell him so.

Thinking of Nick reminded him to take his canteen, fill it with the cold water while he waited for Charger to finish drinking. Finally, he mounted up glad to be working his way back to the ranch. It had to be cooler inside the house.

Almost a year...

Heath had failed to convince Jarrod to come home to the ranch. How, he never figured out. Seemed Jarrod had his mind made up from the get go. There hadn’t been time to send for Nick. Not after Jarrod told him his plans.

“I’m not going home, Heath. I’m taking Jenny back east..”

Even now with the sun pressing relentlessly down on his shoulders, burning though the knees of his tan pants, Heath remembered the cold feeling in the pit of his stomach. “East? What’s there?”

“Doctors. Specialists....I don’t know,” Jarrod answered, “Maybe just hope.”

“Jarrod, there’s doctors around here....good doctors...not like that idiot from San Francisco. Why don’t you take Jenny to San Francisco or Sacramento or even out to Denver? She belongs with family who love her, care about her. We’ll all help take care of her.”

Jarrod shook his head. Boy howdy, if Jarrod didn’t have Nick beat when it came being so mule stubborn. “I don’t want her taken care of, Heath. I want the daughter I had back.”

Heath could see right about then that he wasn’t going to change Jarrod on what he was so all fired set on. “I’ll go with you.” Wasn’t any way he’d let Jarrod go off all the way back East alone...not in the state he was in.

“Do you remember my telling you about a friend I met during the war, Heath?” Jarrod asked changing the subject. “Dorothea Dix.”

The name sounded familiar. “Ain’t she the one who goes around crusading for more humane treatment for the insane?”

Jarrod nodded. “I wrote to her recently...she’s meeting Jenny and me in Denver.”

Even now Heath felt a chill. “You aren’t thinking of putting Jenny in an...” his mind and tongue balked at saying the word, “asylum.”

“No, Heath. But, Miss Dix has generously offered to introduce me to the finest specialists she knows. She’s also offered us a place to stay for awhile.”

Heath tried again. “Let me go with you, Jarrod. Or we’ll wire Mother or Audra. Let one of us go with you.”

“No, Heath. This is something I have to do alone?”

“Why?”

Why? Heath still pondered that question over many months and miles riding over the ranch. He couldn’t say he’d always understood why Jarrod did the things he did. Maybe he never would. But he did believe he could trust Jarrod. Wasn’t much choice otherwise. Jarrod’s mind was set. He and Jenny were going back East.

Stopping to take a quick drink from the canteen, Heath quit pushing away the thoughts he tried so hard to forget. Jenny on that last morning. Would the anguish of seeing her as Sheriff McCafferty and the doctor saw her ever fade away? Usually when he thought of that Jenny, he’d force his mind to happier times. A quiet smile on his face, Heath would reminisce about Jenny as a bitty thing. One of her first games was taking Jarrod’s hat, plopping it down over her brown curls. Looking out from under the brim that covered most of her laughing face, she’d lift the hat from over one eye and giggle, “Peek.” Nick use to get more of a kick out of that than anybody. Nick could act gruff all he wanted but seeing him down on the floor playing “Peek” with Jenny anybody could see he adored her.

It was Nick figured no one could teach Jenny to ride like he could. After watching one “teaching session” that ended up Nick ranting an’ raving, Jenny pouting and Louisa sure they’d kill one another eventually, Heath wondered if he couldn't do a better job. In the end though, Jenny rode like she’d been born in a saddle. And Heath had the pleasure of giving her the sorrel pony.

“She’s so ugly, Uncle Heath, she needs a fancy name?”

“Why don’t you call her Fancy?” He’d said. Fancy she became.

Summers at the Stockton ranch, Jenny and Nicky would come to spend a month or two. They could get into some of the worst scrapes for two little kids. Maybe because they had a lot more freedom to roam here than they had under Louisa’s watchful eye in Salinas. Whatever the reason, Heath knew he’d kept them from getting more than a few well deserved paddlings. Louisa and Jarrod loved those two, anybody with one eye could see that, but Louisa could be too strict some days. Like the day he and Nick had been minding Jenny and they taught her to play draw poker.

“How old are you now, Jenny?”

“Five an’ a half, Uncle Nick. How old are you?”

“Never mind, never mind, “ Nick brushed the question away impatiently, “How’d you like to learn a new game?”

“Is it like Parcheesi?” Jenny asked clapping her hands, “I love Parcheesi.”

“No, no, no....it’s poker. You ever play poker?”

Jarrod looked on Jenny’s asking him to play five card draw after supper with a wry smile. Louisa been mad enough to swallow a horn-toad backwards. Poker not bein’ a “proper” game for little girls. “It sure was a jolly game,” Jenny sighed sadly when told she couldn’t play again. “Lots better than Parcheesi.”


Sad what had become of Jenny. Heath couldn’t forget it had taken him and Jarrod both to hold Jenny long enough for Jarrod to spoon some laudanum in her mouth. It was the only way Jarrod could take her on the stage without her fighting and kicking and screaming every mile of the way. It wasn’t an image of Jenny Heath liked to recall too many times.

Riding across the ridge, waves of heat shimmering along the ground, Heath could see Nick waiting impatiently.

“Now, where the devil you been!”

“I chased them two strays down into that box canyon over by Parker’s farm...they ain’t goin’ anywhere but I am. It’s too hot to be out in this heat.”

Taking off his hat, Nick ran a palm over his own sweaty head and nodded agreement. “You got that right. Better not risk heat stroke.”

They turned Charger and Coco toward the ranch. Riding along in compatible silence, it was Nick who spoke first. “What’re you so quiet about these days?”

“Just thinking’ about Jarrod and Jenny. You ever wonder what they’re doin’ these days, Nick?”

Nick shrugged as if the subject was closed and done before t began and no sense wasting words, “You know Jarrod’s last letter said he was about finished with that legal work he’s been doing for Senator Fulton in Washington. Might be they’ll be coming home any day now.”

Heath had never told the family about Jenny’s condition. He’d found it difficult enough breaking the news about Louisa and Nicky. Jarrod had coached him to say just that Jenny “wasn’t well and they were going east for a change.” Often, watching Mother as she read one of Jarrod’s letters, he got the feeling she knew things weren’t quite right. Once she’d even said, “Jarrod has always been a very private person, but this letter could have been written to anyone by anyone. He’s written two pages about the weather in Washington and another two pages about helping Miss Dix raise funds for her crusade.” Another time she’d asked Heath, “when you saw Jenny....did she seem all right?”

“No, Mother,” he’d been able to answer honestly, “she’d had a big shock. She’s changed.”

It was all he could say, but the family accepted it as they accepted Jarrod’s need to leave California for awhile.

‘I expect she and Jarrod just needed time away to heal. It will do them good to be in the east, there’s so much going on it will take their thoughts away from Louisa and Nicky.” Victoria had said. “They’ll come home when they’ve put some distance between them and that awful day.” Heath hoped she was right.

Feeling his way gingerly, Heath broached the subject so often in his mind. “Wonder why Jarrod doesn’t write more about what Jenny’s doing these days?”

“Now, Heath,” Nick argued, hot, tired and longing for a cool place to sit down, “what’s there to say about an eight year old’s life? She goes to school, plays with her friends. Jarrod said once he took her riding every week. What else is there to say?”

Heath couldn’t help his almost constant feeling of unease. It wasn’t so much what Jarrod wrote as what he left out of his letters. He’d written privately to Heath a couple of times to find out if he’d had any trouble making arrangements about Barkley Ranch South or the livestock. He’d written that Jenny had been to the finest doctors in New York , Boston and Washington D. C. None could make a proper diagnosis other than shock. One doctor thought it might just take more time, another said there was no hope of change. “Some days, Heath,” Jarrod had written, “I can’t help but feel hopeful. Jenny has changed since you last saw her in Salinas....good changes...but she isn’t the Jenny we knew.”

Up ahead, Heath saw the tombstones at the top of the rise. Out of respect for Nick’s feelings, he turned toward the north entrance to the ranch.

“It’s okay, Heath,” Nick spoke softly, “I been by a few times in the last month...but, thanks.”

Nick hadn’t liked to pass the graves. For months now, Heath had respected that and taken the long way home. “Let’s stop.”

Getting down off Charger, Heath watched as Nick walked toward the three headstones. Father’s.
Louisa Antionelli Barkley. Nicholas Heath Barkley. At Jarrod’s request, Heath had brought them “home.” Fresh flowers graced the graves, evidence that Mother or Audra had been by earlier. Mother, he knew, spent time here every week just sitting in the shade with her own thoughts.

“Who’s that?” Nick pointed toward a rider, stirring up dust coming at a racing pace toward them.

“Looks like Sis.”

Nick squinted. “Yeah, it’s her all right. She ought have better sense than to race an animal in this heat.” Audra came to an abrupt stop, jumped off her horse while Nick yelled, “Just what the devil do you think you’re doing racing that animal in this heat?”

Audra ignored him, smiling broadly. “Nick! Heath! We had a telegraph from Jarrod..Burt just brought it out from town. Jarrod and Jenny are coming home! They’ll be here by the end of the week! Isn’t that wonderful?”

Nick picked her up, swung her around joyfully, “Well, now, that’s the best news I heard all week! Just wait’ll I get my arms around that niece of mine. Hey, Audra, we better go chase down Fancy and get her all curried up.”

“Heath,” Audra noticed his quiet acceptance of the news, “Aren’t you glad? It’s been so long since we’ve seen them.”

Heath smiled, hoping it looked like a genuine smile not like a man forcing one, “It’s the best news I heard all week too.” The rest of his thoughts he left unsaid. “I hope.”

Part 6

“Jarrod! Jarrod Barkley, is that you?”

Hearing the shout, Jarrod turned from helping an elderly lady into the rented buggy. “Ben Bradshaw, it’s good to see you again.”

The storekeeper came up, clasped Jarrod’s hand in a firm handshake of welcome and patted him jovially on the back. “Your mother said the other day you were on the way home. I think she’s been in the kitchen cooking ever since she heard the news. And that sister of yours. She’s been buying up the store.”

Jarrod laughed at Ben’s pleased expression over Audra’s shopping habits. “Oh, Ben, where are my manners? May I introduce a friend of mine, Miss Dorothea Dix. Miss Dix, Mr. Bradshaw, who’s run one of the general stores in Stockton for I don’t know how long.”

Brushing his hands clean on the front of his tan coverall apron, Ben held out one to the tall, striking woman Jarrod introduced. My, but she had a bright but stubborn expression on her intelligent face. Ben, who was slightly balding, also admired the abundance of red brown hair lightly touched with gray. A mite too old for Jarrod though, he thought, older even than his mother. When she spoke, her voice was sweet, low and every word perfectly enunciated.

“How do you do, Mr. Bradshaw?”

“Howdee, do, ma’am. Welcome to Stockton. Any friend of the Barkleys is welcome here. Why they been shopping at my store since Jarrod here had to stand on tiptoe to reach the licorice.”

They shared a laugh. Dorothea adding, “I’ll be going to visit some friends in Sacramento in a few days, Mr. Bradshaw. I’ll be sure to patronize your establishment before I leave. My young friend’s children would love some of that licorice, I’m sure.”

“You do that, ma’am.” He turned his attention, as Jarrod feared, to Jenny. “And who’s this little lady hidin’ behind her papa’s leg... is that little Jenny?”

Jarrod felt Jenny clenching the bottom of his grey tweed suit coat, trembling at the strange sights and sounds of Stockton. He chided himself for not putting Jenny into the buggy first where she’d feel safer. Reaching behind his back, he put a protective arm around her shoulders drawing her closer. A movement that didn’t deter Ben.

“How’d you like a peppermint stick, little lady?” Ben bent closer, patting the top of Jenny’s straw hat fancied up with a single pink rose and a ruby colored velvet ribbon. As he did, Jenny pressed tighter to Jarrod’s leg, hiding her face in the folds of his coat.

“Maybe some other time, Ben,” Jarrod said quickly, “it’s been a long trip and we’re anxious to get home.”

“Sure, sure, Jarrod stop in anytime.” Ben replied looking at Jenny strangely. Puzzling. He watched as Jarrod loosened her tight grip on his coat, picked her up and sat her in the buggy beside the woman. Funny, the Jenny Barkley he remembered would’ve been turning somersaults over the nearest hitching post by now, not caring if her fancy petticoats showed.

Odd too that Jarrod didn’t tell her to say, “Howdee, do” proper like. Most of the Barkley children had always been polite to their elders. Tom and Victoria saw to that. Ben thought maybe Jarrod just spoiled the little girl..Maybe because her Mama’d been murdered. Not that she looked spoiled . . . more like scared to death. Those little hands twisting knots in the pearl gray Fayette dress she wore. Being a storekeeper, Ben noted with interest the dress. So that’s what little girls were wearing in Washington, D.C. Straight pleated from collar to skirt with bigger puffed sleeves that ended with a straight sleeve to the wrist. Ruby ribbon for trim at the collar to match the hat. Might be he’d have to order some ready made in that pattern? ...

Jarrod waved from the buggy. “See you later, Ben.”

“Hello to the family for me, Jarrod.”

As they left Stockton behind, Dorothea exclaimed over the scenery. “Jarrod, you were right, this is a beautiful valley. So peaceful and serene.”

“This will be good for you, Jenny,” she told the silent, quivering child beside her. “I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills,” she quoted. Praying that the peace that washed as warmly over her as the sun dappling the trees and meadows might also flow over Jenny.

For awhile, the only sounds were the patient clop, clopping of the horses’ hooves, birds calling “Welcome Home!” From farther away, Jarrod heard a sound he’d almost forgotten in the city, the bawling of cattle. He glanced over his shoulder to see that Jenny had fallen asleep, her hat tipped sideways as she rested her head on Dorothea’s lap.

Remembering the storekeepers puzzlement, Dorothea felt she must broach a subject she had avoided until now. “Don’t you think it might have been wise to tell your family something before you arrived?”

“What would I have said?”

Dorothea spoke, feeling out the words carefully, “Perhaps if you had sent word to your brother, Heath, he could have tempered the shock a little.”

“I’ve asked enough of Heath already,” Jarrod answered. “It wouldn’t have been right for me to ask more of him. No, I’ll tell them myself. “

“Jarrod, you mustn’t feel that you’ve failed Jenny?”

Jarrod smiled to himself. “Ah, now, you know me too well, Dorothea. You’ve been a good friend to us.” He sighed, trying to explain he felt not so much that he’d failed Jenny but that he’d stood by again while she had to kill a snake alone. “When one has tried everything, gone everywhere searching for answers, what else is there to do but admit defeat?”

Dorothea leaned forward, trying not to jostle Jenny, to lay a reassuring hand on Jarrod’s shoulder. “There is always hope, Jarrod Thomas Barkley! If there’s one thing I’ve learned in all these years of fighting for the insane and their humane treatment it’s that there is always hope! This is NOT the same little girl I first saw last year. She changes every day and some day soon, she’s going to be the Jenny you remember.”

“Thank you,” he answered simply. Up ahead, he saw the white gates..gates he’d ridden through or out of how many times over the years? Thousands? Millions? Out of all those times he could only remember one, the last time he’d ridden though those gates when his family had been intact. He’d had a wife and two children. Now, he was coming home with one child, seriously impaired.

“What are you thinking, Jarrod? You’ve been away from this home for so long.”

Jarrod smiled. “Oh, I was thinking about the last time Louisa and I came here. We were coming for a visit...” He paused to laugh, “Louisa and I had gotten into an argument even before we left the ranch. We kept it up in whispers on the train then after we got in the buggy to come here we kept hissing at one another so the children wouldn’t notice.”

“What was the argument about?”

“Nick.”

“Your brother?”

Jarrod nodded. “Louisa thought the children were picking up too many of his bad habits. She wanted me to tell him what she didn’t like. I wouldn’t.”

“Not knowing your brother and whether or not he has bad habits I can’t form an opinion,” Dorothea stated, “but it seems your wife’s request wasn’t unreasonable.”

This time Jarrod’s laugh was hearty, genuine. “My brother, Nick, does indeed have many bad habits. But, as I argued, exceptionally well I might add, to Louisa , he had many good qualities which they had also picked up”

“Who won the argument?”

“Jenny.”

“Jenny? How so?”

“She told us as soon as we got to Grandma’s she was going to tell her to make Louisa and me sit on the steps and hold hands until we were friends again...just like she did when Jenny and Nicky argued.” As always, thinking of that Jenny, Jarrod’s heart twisted. Remembering brought constant pain, like salt in a wound.

“Mother! Mother, they’re here!”

Audra, shouting as loud or louder than Nick, was the first thing Jarrod heard as he stopped the buggy in front of the house. Home.

Victoria and Audra both came running out, throwing their arms around him in joyful hugs and kisses.

“Jarrod!” Victoria scolded, “you should have let us know you were coming. I would have sent someone to meet you. Why, hello, “ she said when she noticed Dorothea sitting in the buggy.

“Mother, Audra, this is Miss Dix. I wrote to you about her work for more humane treatment of the insane. She’s also worked hard to have funds allocated so each state might have an asylum.”

“Why, of course, Miss Dix,” Victoria greeted her as Jarrod helped Dorothea gently lay Jenny down on the buggy seat. As he helped her down from the buggy, she added, “I’ve read about your work in the papers. It must be very fulfilling work.”

“It is indeed, Mrs. Barkley.”

Victoria moved for a closer look at Jenny. “Oh, Jarrod, I’d forgotten how beautiful she was!” She reached out to gently stroke Jenny’s arm. “Look, Audra, how sweet she looks sleeping.” Before Jarrod could stop her, Victoria climbed exuberantly into the buggy, reaching to shake Jenny awake, “Jennifer Barkley, you wake up! I can’t wait another second to hold you!”

Startled awake, Jenny sat up with a look of pure terror in her eyes. As Victoria moved closer, Jenny began to whimper, backing away from her Grandmother. Speaking calmly Jarrod went to block her from jumping out the other side of the buggy. “No one’s going to hurt you here, honey. You know everyone here...Grandmother. Aunt Audra.”

Jarrod tried to avoid the puzzled look in Audra’s blue eyes, the shock in Mother’s. “What’s wrong, Jarrod? Jenny, what’s wrong? Doesn’t she remember me?”

As Victoria leaned forward again, Jenny vaulted over the side of the buggy. Jarrod caught her before she could run, picked her up and pressed her close to his heart. “Dorothea? Could you take Jenny for a walk?”

Dorothea stepped up, waited as Jarrod squeezed Jenny in an extra loving hug and stood her on her feet. “Go with, Dorothea,” he told her putting Jenny’s hand into the older woman’s. “Come, Jenny, Daddy wants to talk to Grandmother and Aunt Audra.”

Heart aching for Jenny, for the sorrow he was about to bring into his family’s life, Jarrod steeled himself for the duty ahead and told them. Watching their eyes, Jarrod saw shock, horror, grief flicker across their expressive faces. Emotions he knew, sadly, by heart. Audra began to weep quietly, leaning toward her big brother for comfort in a hug. Victoria took most of it stoically but by the time he finished her eyes were wet with tears, her voice breaking when she spoke.

“Isn’t there any hope?

Jarrod told them about the endless search for a specialist who could help. About meeting disappointment after disappointment. How even the ones who predicted there was hope could not tell him what to do to bring Jenny back.

Into that sadness that settled over the three, as if they’d just been told about another death in the family., they heard Nick.

“Jarrod! Jenny!” Nobody could miss his loud, enthusiastic shout as Nick came riding up on Coco, jumped out of the saddle and caught Jarrod up in a bear hug that just about lifted him off his feet. “About time you got home, Pappy!” He slapped Jarrod hard on the back.

“Where’s Jenny?” Seeing her walking back with Dorothea, he nodded a polite hello and reached out for Jenny. Jarrod had no time to stop or warn him Jenny didn’t like sudden movements. Nick, grabbed his niece up as he always had, swung her off her feet and around in a dizzying circle and gave her a crushing hug of her own. “Jenny! You’re so sweet I could eat you up.” He pretended, just like he always had, to nibble her ear. By then, Jenny had enough. She began to cry.

“Hey, don’t cry,” Nick sat her on her feet, “bet you’re ready to ride that pony of yours aren’t you? Audra and I...”

For the first time, he seemed to notice the strained atmosphere on the veranda. Audra’s tears, Victoria’s silence. “What’s wrong here? Why’s Jenny crying? Why are you?” He asked Audra sternly.

“Nick, “ Jarrod answered wearily, “it’s hard to explain.” He picked up a now weeping Jenny who threw her arms around his neck, hanging on so tight he wasn’t sure he’d be able to breathe. “Maybe I’d better just put her to bed.”

“In the middle of the day,” Nick demanded, “you just got here! What’s wrong with you, Jenny, you act like you never seen me before?”

“It’s true she might not remember you, Mr. Barkley,” Dorothea interjected.

“Who the devil are you?”

“Nick!” Victoria scolded. “Where are your manners! This is Jarrod’s friend, Miss Dorothea Dix. You must forgive us Miss Dix, this has been a shock...”

Puzzled, Nick looked from one to another, “What’s a shock? What’s everybody crying and talkin’ about here?”

“I’m taking Jenny to bed,” Jarrod said firmly, “the trip has been too hard on her.”

“Jenny’s old room is ready, Jarrod,” Audra spoke quietly. “I’ll go with you.”

“What’s wrong with everybody?” Nick demanded an answer from Victoria and Miss Dix as Jarrod, Audra and Jenny went inside the house.

Victoria shook her head helplessly, unable to explain the unthinkable. With quiet, authority, Dorothea stepped in to answer Nick’s question. “To answer your question, Mr. Barkley, your niece suffers from shock. You knew, of course, that she was in the house when her mother and brother were murdered?” Nick nodded. “Since then she hasn’t spoken a word. When Jarrod first arrived in Washington, she was in a very bad state. It’s hard to know what she remembers or knows. The only real emotion she seems to show is extreme fear. Other than that, she doesn’t laugh or smile or react...not even to pain. Perhaps this trip has been more strenuous for her than we realized. She’s been living a very calming, quiet life in an asylum near..”

“An asylum!” Nick roared outraged. Victoria didn’t try to temper his wrath. Even her heart quailed at imagining Jenny in some of the inhumane places she’d read about. She imagined it was just a reaction to the horror stories she’d heard. Jarrod would never have left his precious daughter in one of those dirty, cheerless homes. “Why’d he put her in one of those places? She has a home! People who love her!”

Rising to her full, imposing height, Dorothea stared Nick down, her yes black with anger. “I can assure you, Mr. Barkley, it is not what you think. It’s been my mission in life to see that people like your niece have decent living quarters, that they are treated with respect and dignity. In the time Jenny has been in the asylum, she has calmed down a great deal.”

Once begun on the work dearest to her heart, Dorothea pressed on, beating Nick back down to size with her words. “When Jarrod and Jenny first arrived in Washington, the only way to quiet your niece was with repeated doses of laudanum.”

Victoria put her hand to her mouth in horror. Dorothea went on. “She allowed no one, including Jarrod to touch her. Do you know how she spent her days? Screaming or crying or rocking back and forth to comfort herself. It took three people to get her into a clean dress, four to put on her shoes. She spent weeks terrorized by the slightest sound or movement. Your brother took care of her alone until he was overwhelmed.”

“Jarrod should have brought her home,” Nick remained stubborn.

“Perhaps,” Dorothea agreed. “I think his main reason to come East was to spare his family. He had hoped to bring back the little girl you all remember so fondly. That wasn’t to be, Mr. Barkley..” In a vain effort to have Nick feel some compassion for Jarrod, she tried again, “Do you know how long your brother had to sit beside Jenny until she began to trust him enough to let him touch her hand? Or how long it took before he could pick her up, hold her? It took months of anguished waiting, praying, hoping against hope. He wanted to spare all of you that at least. If he couldn’t bring Jenny back whole, he wanted to bring back a child you wouldn’t think completely mad.”

Partly chastened, Nick grabbed up his hat, “I got work to do...ranch won’t run itself.” He stomped off. Grabbing Coco’s reins, he swung himself into the saddle, goaded the horse into a trot.

“I must apologize for my son, Miss Dix.”

Dorothea stopped her with a quick movement of her hand. “Don’t feel you must, Mrs. Barkley. Jarrod has told me quite a bit about his family. He felt Nick would take the news hardest of all because he was so devoted to Jenny.”

“Won’t you please come in?” Victoria asked, reaching for social conventions even if she felt the world had ended. Miss Dix nodded a yes. Victoria led the way into the parlor, “This has been such a tremendous shock...to see her this way...” Victoria pressed her hand to her trembling lips, swallowed back tears and blinked them from her eyes, “You didn’t know Jenny before..she was such a charmer. Witty and sweet and truly good..oh, she got into all kinds of scrapes and was often deliberately naughty...but...well, I suppose one likes to think their children or grandchildren are the pick of the litter. Jenny was so loving, such a joy. She could sit at the piano in a white organdy dress, playing like an angel and two minutes later be out climbing a tree with her sash in shreds and those darling brown curls falling in her face because she’d lost her hair ribbon.”

“Mrs. Barkley, I feel I must say this...” Dorothea began as they sat down, “Jenny’s condition may or may not be permanent. In my work with the insane I’ve seen many miraculous things...people given up as hopeless have gotten well and become respected citizens. Perhaps, in time, with love you will get that Jenny back.”

Audra came into the parlor, “Miss Dix, Jarrod said you must be tired. He wanted me to show you to our guest room.”

For the first time, Victoria noticed the weary lines of Dorothea’s face, “Yes, please rest, Miss Dix.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Barkley, it has been a most tiring trip.”

Jarrod passed them coming down the stairs. “Jenny went to sleep. I’ll check in on her in a little while.”

Coming into the parlor, Jarrod put his hands on his mother’s shoulders, leaned down to kiss her. “I’m sorry, Mother. If I could have kept this from happening, I’d have done anything.”

“No, Jarrod...don’t feel that way. What could you have done to prevent any of this?”

He sat down, bone weary but glad to finally be home. Just being home gave him strength...a feeling of relief that the burden was shared.

“Oh, Jarrod,” Victoria began to cry, “it’s almost as if we’ve lost Jenny too but it’s much worse than losing her to death.”

Jarrod got up, went to comfort her, “Mother, don’t. Please. Dorothea thinks being here might help Jenny. I have to hope she’s right. It’s the only hope I have left.”

Part 7

Victoria Barkley sat on the veranda, a forgotten cup of tea growing lukewarm on the lap of her brown riding skirt. Anyone riding by might see a calm woman, cheeks glowing pink from a morning ride, wearing a cream-colored blouse and brown vest that complimented her white hair. It would only be on a closer glance that the viewer might also see the unshed tears glistening in her blue eyes or a pained look as she watched her silent granddaughter.

Earlier, Silas had spread a cheerful patchwork quilt on the veranda so Jenny might sit out in the balmy day. In a futile attempt to interest Jenny in normal little girl behavior, Victoria had brought out a basket of toys that belonged to Nicky and Jenny. Blocks, a wooden Noah’s Ark even Jarrod had once played with, soft dolls . . . spread like childhood daisies over the bright squares and triangles of the quilt. As if they weren’t there, Jenny lay silently on her stomach. Dressed neatly in a green striped dress, a perky bow tied in her deep green sash, Jenny might have been one of the dolls herself. Only one small finger moved, delicately tracing the shape of one patch over and over and over. Victoria fought down an unreasonable urge to smack Jenny’s hand away from the plum colored square, she recognized as being from a dress of Louisa’s. With careful precision, Jenny’s finger followed the square up, across, down, back across. Did she recognize the cloth? Remember her mother?

“Do you remember, Mama, Jenny?” Victoria asked out loud.

Hesitation. Jenny paused, finger poised to begin the glide down the square. Turning her face toward her Grandmother, her eyes flickered over Victoria’s face, then darted away. Carefully, she placed her finger exactly where she’d left off. Down, back across, up, across, down . . .

Sighing, Victoria sat the cup of tea down on a garden table. She picked up her rosewood lap desk, staring down at a letter she’d begun earlier.

Dear Miss Dix,

Thank you so much for staying with us a week longer than you planned. It was with great reluctance that I waved goodbye to you as you left for Sacramento. Your most welcome advice about Jenny in those long talks we had while you were here were and still are very much appreciated. As you so wisely predicted, taking care of Jenny has been more of a strain than I anticipated. Dealing with her infirmity has brought out the best and worst in every member of the family. This too, you so aptly told me would happen.

In the months since your departure, I am sad to write that there is not much improvement in Jenny. We measure victory, as you also told me, in such tiny steps. One day, sitting at the piano, she played four notes of a song she use to play well. She allowed Heath to hold her on his lap and Audra to show her some puppies a neighbor had brought over. At times, I watch her with such unbearable grief for the Jenny we lost...

Looking up, Victoria studied Jenny as she began to move her finger over a triangle-shaped patch of sky blue cotton. Nicky’s shirt. A single tear dripped from Jenny’s blue eyes, trickled across her nose and fell on the triangle.

If only I could help her more. Jenny seems to watch everything, to KNOW everything. Yet, she is very fearful. I feel as you did that Jenny’s problem is that she is still afraid of what happened in that house. I’ve noticed many times that she becomes very upset if she comes across something here that reminds her of Louisa or Nicky. Jarrod had a photograph on his desk that vanished. After Silas and I searched the house, we found it hidden under a settee. It was of Louisa and Jarrod on their wedding day. Another time, Audra found Jenny weeping under a bed, holding a shawl that had belonged to Louisa. If Jarrod attempts to talk to her about them, even with happy memories, it’s as if she pulls inside herself. At such times, one almost feels her slamming shut like the shudders at a window.

You were right about Jenny being able to do many things she once did. How grateful I am to the patient, caring people who taught Jenny to set the table, fold towels and so many other small chores. She seems calmer when given a task to complete. You’ll be glad to know that Silas finally succeeded in teaching her again–how effortlessly she once did the same chores–to feed the chickens and gather the eggs. Looking at her, carefully placing silverware around the table or scattering feed to the chickens, it’s so hard to believe she is not the same little girl who once rushed thorough her chores so she could go riding. But, as you warned me, it’s better not to remember the child Jenny was then. You were right. It does wrench one’s heart mercilessly.

Thank you for your patient persistence in encouraging Jarrod to reopen his law offices. Between the two of us, I feel we have helped Jarrod keep his sanity. He’s become gladly immersed in his work again. So much of the worry and grief have vanished from his eyes. It’s only at night sometimes, as he and Jenny sit in front of the fire, that I see a deep sadness that only time will heal.

Audra and Heath have been so accepting of Jenny . . . they’ve both been truly wonderful. Each of them spends as many hours as possible with her. Jenny responds well to Heath. He’s quiet, gentle and loves her deeply. He follows the principle you told us about, of treating Jenny no differently than we once did. Audra sits for hours, guiding Jenny’s hands with yarn and crochet hook. Jenny once had real talent at crochet. You’ll remember the small lamp stand cover you so admired in your room. Jenny crocheted the lace edging with her mother’s help.

Nick . . .

Dipping her pen in ink, Victoria stared down at the name she’d written. As a mother, she grieved when any of her children were hurting. Instinct told her to protect them from the pain. This time, there was nothing she could do to alleviate Nick’s pain. One night she’d shouted to get through the hard head of her stubborn, second born, “it’s often harder to see someone you love in pain than to endure the pain yourself!”

He’d brushed her off. That was Nick’s way. But she knew, another ache twisting her heart daily, that Nick grieved every second of every day because Jenny was not the same Jenny. He’d gotten to the point where he deliberately stayed away, sleeping in one of the bunkhouses or the line shacks or stumbling up to bed hours after everyone else in the family retired for the night. Once, determined to talk to him, Victoria waited up. She’d opened her door to see Nick standing outside Jenny’s door, his forehead and palms pressed to the wood. By his heaving shoulders she knew quiet sobs shook Nick’s body. Quietly, she’d gone back into her room to weep along with him.

And it wasn’t just Jenny being the way she was that upset Nick. It hadn’t taken Victoria long to notice things were not right between Nick and Heath. Nick resented the fact that Heath hadn’t told them the truth when he’d come back from Salinas. She’d overheard an argument. It was hard not to overhear if Nick were a part of it. “I only saw her the once, Nick!” Heath had finally been goaded into shouting back, “You would’ve had me tell you Sheriff McCafferty said she’d gone mad! Or how about that fancy specialist from San Francisco . . . would you have wanted to know what he thought?”

As far as Victoria knew, Nick rarely spoke to Jarrod either. If he did, his words were clipped short with anger. While even Nick knew better than to blame Jarrod for what had been beyond his control, Nick’s resentment over not being told the truth about Jenny festered daily.

Nick had been angry from the day Jarrod and Jenny had come home. Even that first night at what should have been a celebration supper. It felt more like a wake, yet they’d tried to be pleasant. With Miss Dix, Victoria tried to be a gracious hostess while her heart broke each time she glanced at Jenny. Nick gave no pretense at anything.

When Jarrod began to feed Jenny, he’d shouted, “You mean she can’t even feed herself?”

“No, Nick,” Jarrod answered quietly, a spoon poised toward Jenny’s parted lips, “she can’t.”

Nick threw his napkin down in disgust.

“If it bothers you, I’ll take her in the kitchen.”

“Nick! Please, we have a guest,” Victoria tried to calm him down, angry at his behavior while knowing it was just a mask to cover the deep hurt and disappointment he felt. “Jenny is a member of this family and this family . . . ” She emphasized the word THIS as firmly as possible, “eats together.”

“Do what you like,” Nick shoved his chair back rudely, stomping off.

“Jarrod, he’ll come around.”

Jarrod’s lips smiled, but his eyes denied the emotion. “I know.”

So far, Nick hadn’t come around. If he sat down at the family table, he rarely spoke to anyone and he never looked at Jenny. Not once.

Victoria dipped her pen in the ink again, scratched out Nick’s name in the letter . . . what could she say about Nick?

You asked me to keep you informed about teaching Jenny to feed herself. We have not had much success. Jarrod tries each time he feeds her to put a spoon in her hand and guides it to her mouth. As long as he holds his hand over hers, she eats. If he lets go, she drops the spoon. Jarrod and I have also discussed the idea of making Jenny want to feed herself. Why this should be such a problem neither of us know. We did try simply placing a plate of food in front of her on the theory that if she got hungry enough she would feed herself. (As you said, some of Jenny’s nurses did at the asylum.) We met with the same success as they did. Jenny would not eat. It became too difficult for us to deny her food when she was so obviously hungry and would eat when fed.

Silas and I have come up with a plan we intend to begin this afternoon. If it works, Jenny will learn to feed herself. If not, only Silas and I (and you, Dorothea,) will be the wiser...

“Mrs. Barkley,” Silas spoke from the doorway, “everything is ready.”

Victoria capped the ink, quickly blotted the partly finished letter and stored it all inside the lap desk. Laying it aside, she walked toward Jenny, reached down and helped her to her feet.

“Come, Jenny,” she took the little girl’s hand, “Grandmother has a treat for you.”

Jenny followed her willingly enough to the kitchen. Choosing the kitchen had been Silas’ suggestion so that Jenny wouldn’t associate her meal time with teaching time. Just in case . . . Victoria sat Jenny down, pulled up a chair and sat beside her. Silas moved in quickly with a cup of custard which he placed in front of Jenny.

“Now, Jenny,” Victoria tried to sound matter of fact although her heart raced. Picking up a spoon with slightly shaking fingers, she quickly fed Jenny two bites of the custard while she spoke quietly, “I think it’s about time you started to feed yourself again, don’t you? Think how happy it would make your Daddy if you did. You know, it worries him that you won’t even try. So why don’t we try together and you can eat this lovely custard. Remember how you use to love Silas’ custard?”

As she spoke, Victoria put the spoon in Jenny’s hand, wrapped her own hand around Jenny’s and brought it up to Jenny’s mouth. The first spoonful she helped into Jenny’s eager mouth.

“Now you try on your own.”

Victoria put the spoon in Jenny’s hand. Without her grandmother’s hand holding the spoon, Jenny’s fingers opened quickly. The spoon clattered on the table. Again, Victoria put the spoon in Jenny’s hand. This time she held the hand long enough to scoop up a bite of custard and guide the spoon toward Jenny’s mouth. Halfway there, she let go. Jenny’s fingers splayed open, the spoon dropped, custard spattered on the table cloth. Half and hour later they were still following the same pattern. Put the spoon in Jenny’s hand. Jenny won’t hold it. Once, twice, ten times, twenty, fifty. Victoria lost count.

“Mrs. Barkley,” Silas reminded her as she’d told him to, “it been about half an hour.”

“Thank you, Silas. That’s all, Jenny. We’ll try again tomorrow.”


Tomorrow, tomorrow and tomorrow. The second day passed, a third, a week, two weeks, three weeks. Victoria, who’d always loved her cozy, inviting kitchen began to be thoroughly sick at the sight of it. Every inch of the wood paneled walls began to look like prison bars in the half hour she allotted each day to trying to break through to Jenny.



Lying in bed at night, Victoria began to wonder if she could possibly be making Jenny worse. What would they do if Jenny refused to eat altogether? Her dreams were turned to nightmares of giant spoons chasing her or of being sentenced to an eternity of sitting beside Jenny placing an endless supply of spoons in her hands. She’d sent several letters to Dorothea asking advice. Dorothea had responded promptly:

...as to the problem of making Jenny “worse” it would be hard to state an opinion. None of us knows why Jenny resists feeding herself. I spoke with a noted doctor in New York last week who expressed the opinion that perhaps Jenny’s problem lies in something that happened on that last day with her mother. Maybe she feels guilt over something she did.

All I can say with certainty is that you KNOW your granddaughter better than I. If you feel in your heart that you are pushing her beyond what she is capable of achieving, then stop. You wrote in one letter that Jenny had always had a “stubborn” side that she could dig in her heels and stand her ground even if she knew she’d be punished for not obeying. Only you can judge if Jenny is being stubborn or if she truly is terrified by a fear none of us knows.

Another week passed swiftly. Brown Betty. Apple pandowdy. Custard. Custard and more custard. Give Jenny a sample, hold the spoon in her hand, guide it to her mouth, give her the spoon, pick it up when she dropped it . . . begin again. Jenny began to whimper when led into the kitchen. Several times she clenched her hands into fists. Victoria pried her fingers open each time she put the spoon into her hand.

“Do you think we’ve made any progress at all, Silas?”

Victoria saw him pause, chose his words carefully. “We sure have tried, Mrs. Barkley, but maybe we just need to take a little more time.”

A little more time. Victoria wondered often how much longer she could keep this up.
She had almost made a decision to stop trying on the day when everything began to change.

From the instant she held out her hand to a reluctant Jenny, Victoria felt this day was different. It might have been in the amount of Jenny’s resistance. In the past week, Jenny had begun to stubbornly press her lips together so she wouldn’t have to eat the sample bites. Or she’d fold her hands together, tightly, leaving Victoria to struggle to pull them apart. Now, she had not only folded her hands together, Jenny twisted them into the front skirt of her pink gingham dress. Victoria had to unwrap the dress and pry Jenny’s hands loose.

“No, you don’t missy,” Victoria scolded, “I’m bigger than you. I’m stronger than you and I love you too much to stop.”

Jenny began, as she had the past week, to cry quietly when Silas sat the dish of, more custard today, in front of her.

“Jenny, you could make this easier on all of us. All you have to do is pick up this spoon and eat with it. Just a bite. One bite, Jenny . . . can’t you do that for Grandmother? Take one bite yourself and I’ll feed you the rest of it. Then tomorrow you can just take two bites. Don’t be afraid.”

Picking up a spoon, Victoria slipped it into Jenny’s tightly clasped hand, forcing it between her fingers. What happened next, she had never imagined. Jenny grasped the spoon, firmly, tightly and threw it toward the kitchen wall. It hit the wall with a dull thud before it dropped with a clank on the floor. Silas started toward the spoon, ducking just in time as the custard cup also came sailing through the air. As it splattered against the wall, the glass cup shattered. Blobs of custard dotted the wall.

Victoria, shocked by Jenny’s sudden outburst, had no time to recover. Crying harder now, Jenny jumped up, pushed over the chair she’d been sitting on and the one next to her. Both crashed to the floor loudly.

“Jenny!”

Jenny ran toward the sideboard, scattering a freshly iced cake, a bowl of oranges and six of their best glasses onto the floor with her hands. Victoria managed to grab her but Jenny struggled to get away, kicking and sobbing hysterically. When one of Jenny’s booted feet cracked Victoria’s shin, she let Jenny go with tears of pain in her own eyes. Silas next tried to stop Jenny as bent on more destruction, she grabbed several china plates, holding them high over her head before she threw them full force to shatter against the stove. He could do nothing more than leap out of her way.

Limping, Victoria finally caught Jenny from behind. “Stop it at once!”

Her words had no effect. Kicking and struggling Jenny fought to get away. This time, Victoria held tight. Without conscious thought, acting on an instinct alone, Victoria held Jenny with one hand and grabbed a chair with the other. Sitting the chair facing a corner, she pushed Jenny firmly into the chair. When Jenny pushed against her to get up, she pressed her hands on Jenny’s shoulders and forced her to stay.

“Do you remember when you were naughty at the table, Jenny? How your Mama would make you sit in the corner? Sit!”

Jenny suddenly went limp, all resistance gone. She slumped in the chair, put her hands over her face and began to cry more softly than before. Victoria left her there, letting her cry. Silas was busy with the broom, cleaning up broken glass, the remains of the custard and cake. Picking up the oranges, wiping them off, Victoria began to help him. What a mess! Heavy hearted, Victoria decided she’d have to stop these particular “lessons.” Maybe Dorothea might have another suggestion they could try. This had only succeeded in enraging Jenny. They could not afford the emotional turmoil this would cost if Jenny reacted this way again.

When Jenny’s tears quieted, Victoria went back to her. As she touched Jenny’s shoulder gently, she thought . . . no, she couldn’t have heard. But yes, Jenny turned. Looked her straight in the eyes and whispered, “Grammy.”

Grammy. A nickname Jenny and Nicky had used when they were both too little to say a proper Grandmother. A name Jenny had often used as a verbal caress or to get some spoiling her parents wouldn’t allow. Victoria hadn’t heard it in so long, hearing it now brought sudden tears to spill down her cheeks. Tears of joy.

“Oh, Jenny,” words wouldn’t come. Holding out her arms, Victoria pulled Jenny into an embrace. Jenny’s tears wet the front of her dress. Jenny’s quiet sobs shook her body too. When Victoria bent her head to look into her granddaughter’s teary eyes, she saw Jenny looking up at her . . . really looking AT her. Not avoiding her gaze or afraid to look but looking at her grandmother. Victoria could think of no words to describe the unspeakable joy of having Jenny SEE her, really see her.

Jenny’s lips moved, whispering words Victoria bent closer to hear. When she’d leaned close enough so that she felt Jenny’s breath against her ear, Jenny spoke again.

“Nicky snatched the cookies,” she whimpered desperately, “but I ate them.” Breathing heavily, as if the effort to admit this were too much, Jenny grabbed Victoria’s arm and held tight. Almost as if she were drawing strength to ask the next question. Fear in her eyes, she looked at Victoria’s face watching for a reaction as she whispered again. “Did my Mama die because I was naughty?”

Part 8

Jenny spoke!

In the three days since, Victoria relived that afternoon over and over. Wondering if there had been something different she could have said. Better words....words that might have kept Jenny from slipping away again...

“No, darling, no,” Victoria had attempted to reassure Jenny, “you aren’t to blame for anything that happened that day. You’re just a little girl.”

Jenny looked up once more, a tortured expression darkening her eyes. Pressing her closer, Victoria wished vainly that she’d been able to shield Jenny from the agony of living through that day. She could only imagine the horrific sights or sounds Jenny might have seen or heard. Unless Jenny told her, she’d never know what caused the guilt Jenny imagined. It went deeper, she knew with every fibre of her being, than remorse over eating cookies.

Cupping Jenny’s face in her hands, Victoria repeated, “You mustn't think it was your fault. You are not to blame for Mama dying.”

Almost before the words were spoken, Victoria knew Jenny had slipped away again..deeper into herself than before.

“Oh, Jenny,” Victoria hadn’t been able to control her tears from washing down on Jenny’s dark curls, “Let me help you, please, let me help you.”

Later, telling Jarrod about the events of the day, Victoria felt as if she’d gone from the heights of joy to the depths of despair.

“Cookies?”

“Jarrod, I couldn’t understand what she meant either, “ Victoria answered, “Whatever happened that day, Jenny feels terrible guilt. Almost as if what she did caused Louisa to die.”

Jarrod ran a hand over his forehead, attempting to rub away a mounting headache. Guilt and self blame...he knew those emotions well. Now, to find out his eight year old, daughter felt the same guilt. Was it why she wouldn’t speak? Wouldn’t come back to them? How could he help her realize she wasn’t to blame? How could he convince Jenny it wasn’t her fault when he could barley convince himself it wasn’t his?

“It’s been so long since I’ve heard her voice, “ Jarrod said, “I’ve almost forgotten what she sounds like.”

Tired from the strenuous day, Victoria leaned back into the comfortable, red settee. A soothing fire crackled in the fireplace, rain pattered against the windows making the room cozier. After the emotional turmoil in the kitchen with Jenny, Victoria felt comforted here in the study with Audra sitting beside her, Jarrod standing by the fire. Heath had gone to a dance and Nick...well, wherever Nick was tonight she wouldn’t let his not being here mar the happiness warming her at hearing Jenny speak.

“What could she have meant?” Audra asked. “Louisa never minded the children taking cookies. Remember, Mother, what she use to say?”

Reminiscing, Victoria smiled, “she’d say, what good is a mother’s cookie jar if her children can’t snitch cookies whenever they please.”

A brief smile lit Jarrod’s face. Some thoughts of Louisa came untinged with sorrow.

“Do you recall the time, Jarrod,” Audra asked going up to hug him tightly around the waist, “Louisa’s mother kept scolding her because Jenny kept eating all those cookies?”

Victoria laughed heartily, “Mrs. Antionelli kept scolding Louisa, ‘she’s eaten fifteen cookies in the last twelve and a half minutes. She’s going to make herself sick.’” Waving her hand airily, Victoria continued, “There was Louisa, cool as anything, ‘if she does, Mother, I’m sure she’ll have learned a lesson.’”

Ruefully, Jarrod finished the memory, “I only wish she had learned her lesson somewhere other than all over my new blue suit.”

“And you rushing to meet a train,” Audra laughed. “No one would sit near you the whole trip.”

“Ah, but don’t forget,” Victoria reminded them, “ever since then Jenny always stopped with three cookies.”

Looking back to that night, Victoria wished they could recapture just a smidgen of their joy that Jenny had spoken. By the next morning, it was obvious that Jenny had slipped even further away than before. It took Victoria and Audra both to get her out of her nightgown, into a fresh dress. Not that she fought or protested...she just simply lay not caring.

Even with Jarrod holding Jenny on his lap, talking to reassure her, she refused to eat. She didn’t cry or show fear...it was as if she’d just given up. Almost as if she’d gone beyond wanting to live. They all tried to coax her back while despair hung heavy as mourning over the whole house.

On the third night, Audra sat up in bed with a start. A sound outside her bedroom door must have woken her, she thought. Getting out of bed, she pulled a warm, blue robe over her nightgown. Earlier, she’d coaxed her oldest brother, “Get some sleep, Jarrod, I’ll listen for Jenny.” Almost asleep on his feet, he hadn’t taken long to agree. He’d barely left Jenny since the day Mother had heard her speak.

Opening her bedroom door, Audra was surprised to see Nick standing outside Jenny’s door listening to her cry. Audra stepped back in the shadows, watching. Nick hesitated, hand on the doorknob of Jenny’s door. Instead of opening it, he pulled his hand back quickly, turned to leave. Audra’s heart sank, helpless. Oh, Nick, you use to love Jenny so much. Can’t you remember that? Won’t you even try to help? If he read her thoughts, he made no move back toward Jenny’s door. Audra held her door partly open, pressing her forehead to the cool wood. She’d wait until Nick left before she went to Jenny. No need to let him know she’d seen.

Nick turned again. Was it possible? Audra’s eyes widened as Nick strode purposefully toward Jenny’s door, reached for the doorknob and opened it. Holding her breath, she tensed waiting. In the minutes it would take Nick to light the lamp, a warm glow came from Jenny’s room. Not near enough to hear the words, Audra heard the low rumble of Nick’s voice, trying to be quiet.

On tiptoe, Audra moved quickly down the hall, peeking through the crack of the partly opened door.

“Sh, sh,” Nick whispered, bending down toward Jenny, “all the people in this house an’ they all let a little girl lay here and cry.” Audra watched as Nick picked Jenny up, wrapping her snugly in a quilt before he sat down in the small white rocking chair. Talking softly, he started rocking, “You know, Jenny, this is no good. You got everybody worried sick. Jarrod. Mother. Audra. Heath. And me..”

Nick looked up. Audra stepped back into the shadows in the hall not wanting him to see her eavesdropping. “It’s real sad, Jenny, what happened to Mama and...” he paused, his voice broke a second before he went on, “Nicky. It hurts something fierce to think about Nicky. It’s like we got throwed real hard, Jenny. An’ you remember what Uncle Nick always taught you about getting throwed...you gotta get right back up and try again. You remember that, don’t you?”

Unbelievably, miraculously, tears of wonder running down her cheeks, Audra saw Jenny nod.

“You gotta be brave. Remember how when I first taught you to ride? That Fancy, she sure was an ornery pony. We’d no sooner get you on her back then you’d land on the ground. You’d cry and cry and what happened? I kept putting you right back on. You hated that. You hated me...you told me so enough times. And your Mama, she’d come screaming, ‘Nicholas Barkley, if you kill my child I will personally wring your neck!’”

Jenny sniffed. With the back of her hand, she began to wipe tears off her face. Nick’s gentle hands wiped the ones she missed. “You gotta be brave now, Jenny, just like you were when you learned to ride.”

As he kept talking, Audra tried to stifle the sobs that threatened to overflow. Not wanting to be caught, she went back to her own room where she could cry freely. It sure had taken Nick awhile but maybe he could reach Jenny when no one else could. They’d always had a special bond between them. Please, help her, Nick, Audra whispered as she got back into bed. Please...

Coming out of Jenny’s room the next morning, Victoria stopped Jarrod. “Did you get Jenny up?”

“No, Mother, “ Jarrod glanced into Jenny’s room, the rumpled bed empty, “I just got up.”

“Maybe Heath or Audra got her up,” Victoria said with hope, “Heath might have been able to coax her to eat this morning.”

“Coax who to do what?” Heath asked coming out of his own room, buttoning his shirt.

“You didn’t get Jenny up?”

Heath, too, looked into the empty room. “No.”

“Maybe Audra..” Victoria knocked, then opened Audra’s door. Audra sat up, yawning. “Audra, have you seen Jenny this morning?”

Remembering last night, Audra got up quickly, pulling on her robe. “No, Mother, but last night...” Had she imagined last night? Jarrod and Heath crowded close to the door, “Nick was talking to her.”

“Nick!”

They all turned as they heard Nick, shouting as usual from the lower floor, “All you people going to sleep all day! Jenny an’ I have been up for hours!”

Not knowing what to expect, not daring to even hope, they almost fell over one another running down the stairs, following Nick’s bellowing to the dining room. A beaming Silas stood with coffee pot in hand, nodding his head toward Jenny who sat in her usual place to Jarrod’s right. With a fork in her hand. A fork, if Nick and Silas’ foolishly grinning faces were any indication, Jenny had been using to feed herself.

Standing behind his daughter, Jarrod could see that Nick must have done up the buttons on her yellow dress...most of them were crooked. He also must have done the haphazard job of trying to brush her hair. While Nick did an excellent job of roping calves, his expertise did not include the typing of little girl’s hair ribbons. The lopsided bow in Jenny’s hair tumbled into her face. Moving slowly Jarrod circled her chair until he could see Jenny’s face.

“Good morning, honey,” he spoke, trying to still the excitement and joy as Jenny looked back at him. She didn’t speak or smile but she looked at him, really looked AT him. Jarrod looked up at Nick.

“Nick...” what was there to say? Jarrod’s heart was to full to find words.

“It’s okay, Pappy,” Nick said gruffly, “about time I started pulling my weight around here.”

None of the days after that morning were easy. Jenny seemed as fragile as fine china. Each moment she teetered on shattering back into herself. Yet, each day, Jarrod felt more hopeful as his daughter began to come back. Jenny still didn’t speak or smile. She didn’t give hugs or kisses. Rarely, she might nod yes or no in answer to a question. In many ways, she was the Jenny they knew...in so many others this Jenny was a stranger.

If it hadn’t been for the kittens, Jenny might have stayed a sad, silent little girl. Later, no one wanted to imagine what might have happened if Audra’s mother cat, Sal, hadn’t given birth to five, frisky kittens. From the first, Audra and Jenny began daily visits to the barn. While Jenny never smiled, Audra thought she seemed to enjoy watching the kittens. As they began to grow older...crawling and cavorting as only kittens could...Jenny never wanted to leave them. It didn’t take Audra long to realize that Jenny’s favorite was a coal black kitten, friskier than his brothers and sister. He would be Jenny’s kitten after Audra sent the rest to the children at the orphanage.

“Nick,” Audra stopped him on the day the kittens were old enough to leave their mother, “I promised Miss Angela that you’d ride over to the orphanage sometime today with the kittens. When I was there Saturday, I told the children they would be coming. Jenny’s keeping the black one but you can take all the others.”

Impatiently, Nick ranted, “Now, why’d you go and promise a fool thing like that? Like I don’t have better things to do than cart a bunch of kittens over there!”

Audra used her most coaxing smile. “Please, Nick, the children are waiting.”

“You know every time I go over there Miss Angela starts makin’ sheep’s eyes at me and asking’ all sweet like, ‘you going to the dance in town this Saturday night, Mr. Barkley?’”

“Im sure a big, strong cowboy like you can handle Miss Angela,” Audra teased, “And you know you hate to disappoint the children.”

Nick grunted but walked on into the barn. Picking up a feed sack, he chased down the calico kitten, pulled a tabby off his pant leg and began to load them inside the bag. Jenny, sitting on a bale of hay with the black kitten pressed tightly against her chest, watched him suspiciously. “Don’t worry,” he said, “I’m not takin’ yours.”

One of the hands, Angus, came into the barn to pick up a bale of hay. Seeing Nick chasing the other two kittens across the barn floor, he laughed, “Gotcha some new playthings, Nick?”

“Naw, “ Nick answered flippantly, trying to keep up his tough rancher image, “got some kittens to drown.”

“Nick!” Audra punched him playfully on the arm. “Shame on you! He’s just taking them to the...”

Audra’s sentence was to remain forever unspoken. Neither Audra or Nick were prepared when Jenny jumped up, fury in her eyes and began to pummel Nick’s legs with her fists. “No, Uncle Nick! No! You aren’t going to drown any kittens!”

Stunned, Nick dropped the feed sack of kittens. Released, the kittens began to scamper away as Jenny ran frantically after them, gathering up two who quickly clawed their way back to freedom. Unable to hold the kittens, Jenny turned back to Nick and began to kick him. “You can’t hurt them! I won’t let you!”

Nick tried to hold her back. “Hey, now, Jenny, I was just joking.”

Audra stood helplessly by, unable to speak.

“I’m telling my Daddy,” Jenny threatened, as she had so many times in the past, “I’m telling him right now!”

Landing a couple of swift kicks at Nick’s shins, Jenny turned and ran toward the house screaming, “Daddy! Daddy!”

Furiously wiping tears from her eyes, Audra followed. Nick, limping a little, came close behind. Neither of them wanted to miss seeing Jarrod’s face as Jenny spoke to him for the first time in so long.

“Daddy!”

Jarrod heard her coming. Heard, recognized her voice but couldn’t quite believe he’d heard. Jumping up from his desk in the study he ran toward the front door, meeting Victoria coming down the stairs.

“Daddy, tell him he can’t! Tell Uncle Nick he can’t drown the kittens!” Coming through the front door, Jenny ran up to him crying. Jarrod held out his arms. Jenny threw herself into them. “Tell him, Daddy!”

“What’s happened?” Victoria questioned Audra who stood unselfconsciously with tears streaming down her cheeks.

Joy lighting his face, Jarrod answered for her, “I think, Mother, that in his own bumbling fashion, brother Nick has given me back my daughter.” He hugged Jenny tightly, patting her back, kissing the top of her head.

“Tell him, Daddy,” Jenny demanded again, “He said he’s going to drown the kittens.”

Nick moved up to pat her too. Jenny gave him a mean frown and turned her head away, burying it against Jarrod’s shoulder. “It was just a joke, honey. I’m really taking them over to the orphanage.”

Jenny turned to look at him, doubtfully. She saw Victoria standing behind him, “Is that true, Grandma? Is he really taking them to the orphanage?”

“Yes, darling.”

“Aunt Audra said I could keep the black one.”

Audra moved closer to reassure her, “He isn’t taking yours, Jenny.”

“Hey, now,” Nick tried to get back in Jenny’s good graces, “I’m got an idea. Why don’t’ you come with me, Jenny? We’ll take the kittens together.”

Jenny sniffed. “They don’t like goin’ in that old sack. It scared them.”

“Why don’t you let me find a nice basket for the kittens to ride in,” Victoria suggested, “then they won’t be scared.”

“Well, alright,” Jenny sniffed again, mollified.

Victoria went to find the basket, Nick went out to saddle Coco. Jarrod stood where he’d first picked Jenny up, squeezing her so tightly she protested, “Daddy, you’re hurting me.” He loosed his hug never wanting to put her down.

“Coco’s ready,” Nick came back in, “you all set, Jenny?”

Reluctantly, after Nick mounted, Jarrod handed Jenny up to him. Nick settled Jenny in front of him on the saddle. Audra watched the whole scene, her blue eyes shining with joy. When Victoria came back with the basket, Audra went to round up the kittens. They all moved quickly, joyfully ready to cater to Jenny’s every whim.

“Take care of her, Nick,” Jarrod said as Audra came back. She handed the basket of kittens up to Jenny, who after a quick peek inside said, “I’m all ready, Uncle Nick.”

“I’ll take care of her,” Nick promised. “Oh, I’ll take good care of her.”

As they rode off, Jenny leaned around Nick to wave and smile.

Victoria put her arm though Jarrod’s. “I keep thinking it’s like that line from a hymn, I once was lost...”

“But now I’m found,” Jarrod quoted, tears wetting his eyes. “We found her again. We found Jenny.”

THE END

To be continued in … "But now I'm found"