"Good thinking," Susan nodded. "And those thorny bushes too. Make it tough for any unwanted guests."
"Aaron's got that Winchester rifle," Brenda mused. "He's a good shot, but he can't be everywhere at once. Maybe we start practicing some shooting ourselves."
"Shooting? Us?" Cassandra chuckled nervously.
"Never too late to learn," Deborah stated firmly. "Aaron taught me to shoot shortly after we got here."
"Deborah's right," Imogene confirmed. "We'll stand by Aaron and our homes."
"Let's hope it doesn't come to that," Hannah sighed, "but better ready than sorry."
"Tomorrow, we start," Deborah announced.
*****
DEBORAH'S HEART WASa wild thing in her chest, thrumming with fear and determination as she watched the horizon, where plumes of smoke rose like specters against the late afternoon sky. She swallowed hard, the taste of dust and anxiety thick on her tongue.
"Come away from there," a gentle voice called from behind her. It was Susan. "You’re borrowing trouble and letting worry eat at you."
Deborah turned, feeling the weight of her fears lessen just a smidgen at the sight of Susan's calm demeanor. "Susan, I... How do you do it? Stand so strong when the world's trying to knock you down?"
Susan chuckled softly, pulling Deborah into the cool shade of the porch. "Strength isn't about never being scared. It's about what you do when fear comes around. You're stronger than you think, Deborah Tudor."
"Feels like I'm just playing at bravery," Deborah confessed, her fingers twisting the fabric of her apron.
"Playing or not, it's there inside you," Susan assured her, reaching out to still Deborah’s restless hands with her own. "You've got a light in you that this range war can't snuff out. Remember that."
"Thank you, Susan," Deborah said.
"Go on now, get to your knitting. I've seen how those needles and yarn work better than anything else for your nerves," Susan said, giving Deborah a knowing smile.
"Guess it couldn't hurt," Deborah replied, mustering a small smile of her own as she retrieved her knitting basket.
She settled into a wicker chair, the creak of its weave familiar and soothing. With each click and slide of her needles, Deborah felt the tight coil of fear inside her begin to unwind. Yarn over, through, pull, and off. The emerging pattern of the sock was simple, nothing fancy, but each stitch made her feel just a little bit better.
*****
DEBORAH TUCKED HERlatest knitted creation into the basket and stood up, smoothing out the folds of her cotton dress. The evening breeze carried a hint of jasmine and the distant murmur of voices. She walked down the porch steps, her sisters Gail and Hannah right behind her. It was time to weave the community as tightly as the patterns in her knitting.
"Deborah, do you think people will help?" Hannah asked, her voice tinged with hope.
"Only one way to find out," Deborah replied, squaring her shoulders. They made their way along the dusty path toward the neighboring farm.
At the first house, a gray-wooden structure with shutters hanging askew, they were greeted by Mrs. Mueller, whose apron was as worn as the smile lines around her eyes.
“Girls, what brings y'all this way?" Mrs. Mueller inquired, wiping her hands on her apron.
"Mrs. Mueller, we need to talk about the range war. It's getting closer, and Aaron could use some help," Deborah explained, her voice steady despite the flutter in her chest.
"Say no more," Mrs. Mueller said, nodding decisively. "We'll gather the men. Your husband won't stand alone."
"Thank you kindly," Gail said, her relief evident.
"Let's spread the word," Deborah suggested, feeling a surge of gratitude.
They continued from house to house, receiving nods, firm handshakes, and promises of support. By nightfall, they had rallied a small but determined group, ready to stand together against the encroaching threat.
*****
