Will chuckled. “No. I didn’t hate him.”
The boy looked puzzled. “Why not?”
“He was a good neighbor. His wife and my mama, they study the Bible together every morning. And his daughter, Maggie, is best friends with my little sister.”
“But he wore the blue.”
“Yes, he did.”And he died wearing it,Will thought sadly. The war had taken an awful lot of good men on both sides. “Mr. Dunne sided with Sam Houston.”
“Who?”
“A good man, a true Texan. He believed in the Union and didn’t want to secede. He was afraid secession would destroy Texas.”
“Did it?”
“It certainly didn’t do it much good. The economy is in shambles. Nobody has any money. Folks are hungry and losing their homes left and right. Which is why I’m here in Denver City.”
The boy nodded, seeming to understand. “So you can make money.”
“That’s right.”
“And send it home.”
“Yes.”
“Oh, so that’s why.” The boy looked Will up and down, started to say something, and seemed to think better of it.
“That’s why what?”
“Nothing.”
“That’s why I wear these old boots and worn-out homespun clothes?”
The boy nodded sheepishly.
Truth be told, Will was more than a little embarrassed by his tattered clothing. But clothing, even new homespun, cost money, and he was determined to save every penny he could for Mama and Rose.
In a flash, Will pictured his father lying on the ground, covered in blood, already slipping away, and for just a moment, Will was nine years old again, nine years old and scared out of his mind but doing his best not to cry.
You promise, boy?
Nine-year-old Will nodded.
His father snarled then, growling at the pain, and gripped Will’s tiny hand all the harder.
Say it, son. I gotta hear you say it.
I promise, Pa. I promise I’ll take care of Mama and Rose.
Pa’s eyes locked on his then, filled once more with strength and something else, something he would only later realize was pride.
That’s my boy. You’re the man of the house now.
Will nodded, holding back tears with all his might.
His father groaned again then spoke his final words.
You’re the provider.
