If anyone noticed, no one said anything. That little firebrand Renny would probably have been just as happy if he'd moved the keg clear to the next territory.
Within moments Shevonne came to him, a steaming bowl in her hands. "Your stew, Mr. MacQuade," she said with a preening smile that would've done a southern belle proud. He took the container, tempted to reach up and give her white-blond plait a teasing tug. The very thought was enough to quash any thought of doing so.
Garret muttered his thanks, then, fixing his attention upon the meal, took up a bent spoon, shoveling in mouthfuls of the savory mixture in hopes of escaping as quickly as possible.
He had just filled his mouth with another heaping spoonful when a reverent feminine voice made his spoon freeze midway to the bowl. His eyes darted up to see Ashleen and the children, hands clasped, heads bent in prayer. Even little Meggie's fingers were laced together over what Garret could now distinguish was a worn doll as she stood in the wagon's shadow.
The piece of prairie chicken in Garret's mouth seemed to swell to five times its size, his mother's long-ago admonitions about thanking the Lord making it impossible to swallow.
"Bless us, O Lord..." Hushed, earnest, their voices blended into a sound Garret had not heard since the last night he had squirmed at his parents' table at Stormy Ridge, waiting impatiently for his father to finish with prayers so they could all dive into his mother's crusty turkey pie.
There had been a time he had believed that the violence that had followed that horrendous night had been his fault—God's vengeance because he had neglected his prayers, not learned the Bible verses his mother had assigned to him and Beth to memorize each Sunday.
But now he knew better.
The vengeful, angry God his pa had read about in the Old Testament didn't really exist.
No God did.
Garret forced himself to swallow the chunk of meat, but it was as if the tender morsel had grown spikes, tearing at his throat with the painful memories.
Shaking himself inwardly, he struggled to focus on the fire, the night wind, the whickering of Cooley grazing nearby. But it was Renny's sullen voice that jerked him back to the present. Garret looked up, aware that the formal prayer was over but that each of the children apparently were now free to offer up their own petitions.
"... get to Texas. Soon, " Renny was saying.
But whatever else the boy might have wanted to add was lost as Liam jumped in, eager. "God bless Meggie an' Shevonne, an' help Renny not draw my cork, an' "—the boy paused to take a deep breath—"an' please, God, don't throw Mr. MacQuade into hell, even if he does take Your name in vain."
Garret thought things couldn't possibly get worse.
Then Shevonne snickered.
"Yeah," she added, "and even if he keeps lookin' at Sister Ashleen like he wants to gobble her up. Amen."
"Amen," the other children chorused.
Ashleen's voice sounded strangled, and Garret jerked his gaze away from her, feeling guilty as a schoolboy caught gawking at the teacher.
Still obviously flustered, Ashleen swiveled to beckon to Meggie, offering the child a bowl. "It's hot, Meggie, treasure. Hot stew."
The child regarded her with solemn eyes for long moments, and Garret almost thought she was not going to take it. But after a moment, the little girl tucked the raggedy doll beneath one arm and came shyly forward to retrieve her supper.
"C'mon, Meggie, sit by me," Renny called out, his voice more gentle than Garret had ever heard it. "I found you a pretty stone today."
But even the offer of such a prize did not entice the little girl to Renny's side. She stood for long minutes just staring at the boy. Then, as if in a trance, she turned slowly, and before the astonished gaze of them all she paced over to the keg where Garret sat.
Silence settled in a suffocating blanket over the campsite, and Garret could feel a barrage of hostility crackling from Renny's stormy gaze, could feel the fragile hope in Ashleen, the astonishment in Liam and Shevonne.
Yet all Garret could see was Meggie Kearny's lost-angel face, achingly old eyes beneath lushly curled little-girl lashes peering up at him with some emotion he could not name.
He cleared his throat, trying to think of something to say to her, not wanting to frighten her away. It had been a long time since Garret had made an effort to be gentle. He did so now.
"Sister Ashleen tells me your name is Meggie," he said tentatively. "My name is Garret."
The child solemnly shook her head in dissent.
Garret glanced over at Ashleen, unsure whether to correct the child or not, but the woman only shrugged, her eyes hopeful. So damn hopeful.
Garret swallowed, his throat raw. "That's a real nice doll you've got there," he said, reaching out a finger to touch yarn hair that must once have been bright as Renny's, but which had faded through time to a nondescript orangeish-gray.
