Page 58 of His Texas Home
And now, I was going back…not to stay, but to see if anyone else wanted to go.
There were nine other women over the age of sixteen—all of them wives of Daley and his men—and twenty-three children on the property. All of them had remained on the property after Atchison was arrested, continuing life as normal…which was both strange and totally expected.
The women had always run things here. The men had just been security.
I watched the familiar road through the window—the same trees, the same limestone cuts, the same sky—and tried to remember that I was different now even if the road wasn’t. I had a name. I had a job. I had a baby the size of a bean and a man who loved me and a dog who had chosen me in a matter of minutes.
I was not the girl who had sprinted away from this property in the dark.
Stetson drove. Wyatt sat in the back with Haven, their medical kit between them. Nobody talked much…there wasn’t much to say.
The gate came into view, open for the first time I’d ever seen. It had always been padlocked before; I’d carefully crawled through barbed wire to escape. Now they could just come and go, but they still stayed.
“You okay?” Forrest asked quietly.
“Ask me in an hour,” I replied.
He squeezed my hand.
Stetson pulled through.
The homestead looked exactly the same. That was the thing that hit me first; I’d half expected it to look different, smaller maybe, the way places from your childhood were supposed to look when you came back. But it was the same dusty yard, the same long low buildings, the same kitchen garden running along the south fence that I’d weeded on my hands and knees more times than I could count. And…the women were still working. Three of them were kneeling in the garden, not looking up, working in silence like we’d been told to for years.
One of them stood up and shaded her eyes.
I recognized her immediately.
Ruth—Daley’s second wife. Forty-something, thin and reedy, the woman who’d run the kitchen and struck me across the knuckles with a wooden spoon more than once because I’d dropped a dish or burned the food. She’d done it because, in her own words, it was better to take punishment from her than from Mr. Daley.
She didn’t look happy to see me.
“Willa,” she said, voice flat as I climbed out of the car. Forrest stayed right at my shouler, and I pressed my lips together, trying to be strong.
“Ruth,” I said with a nod. “I’m not here to cause trouble. Just wanted to check in.”
“We were fine before you left,” she said. “We’re fine now.”
The other two women had straightened up. I didn’t know them as well—they were the other men’s wives, and we hadn’t talked much. One of them was looking at me with something like hope, like she was on the brink of opening her mouth and terrified Ruth would be the one to shut it.
“I brought some family with medical experience,” I said. “In case anyone needs it and doesn't want to leave the property?”
Ruth stared daggers at me.
But that other woman…she raised her hand tentatively.
“My son hurt his ankle a couple weeks ago and it hasn't cleared up,” she said softly.
Ruth's head whipped around.
But Haven was already at my other shoulder, smiling. “We can take a look,” she said. “We brought medical wrap and splints. Get him back on his feet in no time.”
I watched the two of them, holding my breath…and then she started leading Haven and Wyatt inside.
I exhaled.
Ruth went back to gardening like I wasn't even there.
“Where to next?” Forrest asked.
