“Good,” their mother said. “Blaze, I need you here today. There’s wood to split and fences to mend. Rachel, you’ll come with me into town.”
Rachel’s face lit up. Blaze nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
His mother set the basket on the wagon bench. “And, Blaze, mind what folks say if you hear ’em. I know you’ve got a temper in you, same as your pa.”
“I won’t pick no fights,” Blaze said.
“Don’t matter if you start it or not. Folks want reason enough to think ill,” she said.
He nodded again, though heat prickled under his collar.
Rachel glanced between them. Their mother’s mouth tightened.
“Words are wind,” she added. “Let the wind blow on by.”
Rachel kicked at the dirt. “I hate it.”
“Me too,” Blaze muttered.
“Enough,” their mother said, climbing up onto the wagon. “Load that basket, Blaze.”
He hefted it up beside her, then stepped back as she took the reins. Rachel scrambled up, grinning like she’d won a prize.
“Don’t burn the place down while we’re gone,” Rachel teased.
“Don’t boss Ma around while you’re gone,” Blaze shot back.
Their mother flicked the reins. “Both of you hush.”
The wagon rolled forward, creaking toward the road. Blaze stood with his hands on his hips, watching the dust trail fade.
The ranch yard felt too quiet without them. The chickens pecked in the dirt, horses shifted in the corral, and the wind rattled the dry grass. Blaze turned back toward the barn, rolling his shoulders.
Work waited. Always work.
He split wood until sweat darkened his shirt, then hauled water from the well. The sun climbed high, burning down on his neck. As he worked, his thoughts circled the same words Rachel had spoken.
Mrs. Kane says Pa stole gold.
Blaze swung the ax harder, burying it deep in the block. He yanked it free, chest heaving.
“They don’t know nothin’,” he muttered.
Still, the whispers clung like burrs. Every trip into town, every passing glance, every lowered voice. Folks might smile to his mother’s face, but their eyes always drifted to Blaze, measuring him against a story they’d already decided was true.
Blaze set another log, raised the ax, and brought it down with a sharp crack. He split the wood clean in two, but the ache in his chest remained.
“Pa weren’t no thief,” he whispered. “And I’ll prove it if I got to.”
“Yoo-hoo! Anybody home?”
“Reckon the boy’s out back.”
“Thought his ma handled the orders.”
“Maybe she’s in town. Don’t matter, long as we unload.”
Blaze straightened, ax still in hand. Sweat streaked his face. He leaned the handle against the block and stepped toward the barn.
