Chapter Twelve
The sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden haze over the Trinity ranch as the day waned into late afternoon. Erna, her hands working deftly as she made tiny pieces of fruit for the dollhouse, sat on the porch enjoying the lazy hum of cicadas when the quiet was shattered by the sound of frantic footsteps.
“Joel! Joel, help!” Deborah’s voice, laced with panic, cut through the serene air. Her dress, usually so neat, was wrinkled and dust-covered as she stumbled up the path to where Erna sat, wide-eyed.
“What in the world?” Erna murmured to herself, setting aside her work. She rose to her feet just as Joel burst from the barn, his brow furrowed in concern.
“Deborah? What’s wrong?” Joel called out, moving quickly toward the distressed young woman.
“Please, it’s urgent!” Deborah managed between ragged breaths, her normally timid nature overtaken by sheer desperation.
Without another word, Joel turned on his heel and strode back to the stable. Erna followed, her heart pounding with worry for both her sister and her husband. She arrived at the stable entry just in time to see Joel swing onto his horse, the animal’s sides heaving in anticipation.
“Joel, wait! What happened?” Erna asked, chasing after him, but Joel was already spurring his mount forward, the urgency in Deborah’s plea propelling him onward.
“No time, Erna. I’ll be back soon,” Joel called over his shoulder, leaving Erna clutching the wooden fence post, her knuckles white.
“Deborah, tell me what’s going on!” Erna insisted, turning to her sister who seemed to be regaining her composure, though her blue eyes still held fear.
“I...I have to get back,” Deborah stuttered, looking past Erna, her gaze fixed on the cloud of dust Joel left behind.
Left to her own devices, Erna’s imagination spun wild scenarios as she paced the length of the porch, her worries multiplying with each passing hour. The shadows lengthened and merged, and the ranch lamps flickered to life as night embraced the land.
“Shoulda heard something by now,” Erna muttered to herself, her attempts at optimism waning. She hugged her arms around her middle, trying to quell the unease that gnawed at her.
“Joel’s smart and strong. He’ll be fine,” she whispered into the darkness, more to convince herself than out of any real certainty.
It was late when the sound of horse hooves finally broke the evening’s silence. Erna, who had been sitting on the porch step with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, stood abruptly, her heart pounding in her chest.
“Joel!” she called out as her husband dismounted wearily. The lantern light illuminated his face, showing the lines of strain around his eyes.
“Outsiders,” Joel said curtly, his voice betraying his fatigue. He quickly went to work removing the horse’s saddle and wiping him down. “They’re causing trouble at Aaron and Deborah’s place.”
“Are you all right? What kind of trouble?” Erna asked, her worry for him shifting to alarm for her sister and brother-in-law.
Joel waved a dismissive hand as he trudged closer. “Nothing we can’t handle. Aaron needs men to stand with him, is all.”
Erna frowned, not convinced, but knew better than to press Joel for details when he was this worn down. Instead, she reached out and took his hand, leading him inside.
Over the next few days, tension hummed through the air like a taut wire. The sisters met up more often than usual, their conversations a mix of hushed tones and reassuring smiles. Erna and Deborah would sit on Erna’s porch, knitting needles clicking softly as they kept an eye on the horizon.
“Joel says it could turn into a range war,” Erna shared quietly one afternoon as Deborah added another row to her scarf.
Deborah looked up, her hands stilling for a moment. “I pray it doesn’t come to that,” she murmured, her gaze drifting off toward the dusty road that led to their homes.
“Me too,” Erna agreed, reaching over to give Deborah’s hand a gentle squeeze. “But no matter what happens, we’ll face it together.”
Erna’s heart skipped a beat at the distant crack of gunfire that shattered the afternoon calm. She dropped her knitting and stood up from the porch swing, shielding her eyes against the sun to see better. Off toward the west, where the sky met the land, a plume of smoke unfurled like a dark flag.
“Deborah, look!” she called out, pointing toward the horizon.
Deborah set aside her scarf, her blue eyes wide with alarm. “That can’t be good,” she whispered, clutching the fabric of her dress.
“Joel said they might come,” Erna said, trying to keep the tremble from her voice. “The outsiders.”
“Let’s hope it’s just a small brush fire,” Deborah replied, though her tone held little conviction.
As the sisters stood there, helpless spectators to the unfolding drama, more shots rang out. The fire continued to grow, its bright flames licking the sky as if taunting them.
