From Mourning to Joy

he scanned the room. A door stood open on the far side and when he stepped across the threshold, he noticed the small cot. With one hand, he threw back the thin cover and laid the boy flat. In the main room he headed straight for the pile of blankets that the boy had drug from everywhere to keep he and his mother warm on the floor. Grabbing a couple, he returned and covered Davey. The child moaned, and drew the blanket up under his chin. Bernie chuckled to see the smile on his thin lips, evidence that his dreams had transported him into a boy’s make-believe world.
Bernie left the door open so he’d gain the benefits of the heat from the stove. At the fireplace he stirred then fed the blaze, and in the cookstove filled the reservoir with water from the pail. Before he took off his boots, he made two trips to the woodpile and stacked more fuel in the corner. Should he run for more water tonight? The bucket was nearly empty. He lit the kerosene lamp and peeked in at the woman – whom he just realized never introduced herself – and noted she hadn’t moved an inch. He rested a hand on her forehead, relieved that the heat level had lessened over the past few hours. With the lantern in one hand and a pail in the other, he headed for the well. He lowered the wooden well bucket into the depths and when he pulled it up, dumped the cold liquid into the house pail. He felt fingers of icy frost touch his cheeks and glanced toward the sky. A breeze swept through the air, pushing the dark clouds into motion. The distant storm was moving east and tomorrow promised to be a brighter day.

Chapter 4
Warmth from the blazing fire welcomed him when he returned to the cabin and not a sound came from either of the bedrooms. Bernie bathed Janelle’s face with cool water and for a moment sat on the rocker to watch her. The covers lifted and fell in response to her even breathing. Her features were fine and delicate like the detailed petals on a rose about to bloom. A mass of disheveled hair, the color of golden wheat ready for harvest, draped across her pillow. No wonder the woman liked farming. In his mind, he couldn’t think of her as Mrs. Rimes. She was far too young and childlike in appearance, and that in itself was disturbing. He’d guess her to be in her early twenties, only because she had a five-year-old son.
Yet, laced within the innocence that highlighted deep slumber, he saw lines of heartache and grief. The Stewart’s had said her husband died in the fall, an untimely season with being new in the neighborhood and winter just around the corner. Most likely not enough time for a woman’s heart to mend and give into the affections of another man either. But, living in the West required many women to place needs before feelings. This pint-sized female had held out strong against suitors for many months and from what he’d seen and heard, it didn’t sound like she was interested in a new husband yet.
Bernie chuckled at the picture Davey had painted of her running fellas off with her rifle. Something about those fiery eyes made a man know she meant business. He’d witnessed that cold and hostile stance first hand, and if she aimed it at him again, he’d be tempted to run. He had nothing invested here, yet his mind and heart lingered on a bizarre hope that he’d never experienced. More than anything, that emotional weakness would send him running for the hills.
Suddenly, she became unsettled, tossing in her sleep. He grabbed the last two blankets from the pile and brought them inside the room. Bernie parked himself on the rocker and covered up to his waist. When his eyes finally shut, the world stopped and he slept. At some point he felt a presence. Jumping to his feet, his hand went automatically for the gun in his holster. He scanned the room and when his gaze fell on the bed, he noticed the woman staring at him with the hint of a smile on her face.
“Relax, cowboy. I don’t have my gun.”
Holstering his weapon, Bernie dropped back onto the rocker and ran his fingers through his hair. “How are you feeling?”
“Much better.”
“Maybe a bit more soup before you go back to sleep?”
“Thank you, that sounds good. You appear to have included miracle working ingredients.”
“Just some of your rabbit to flavor the broth along with a few spices.”
“Ah, yes the rabbit,” she groaned.
“You will be pleased to know Davey and I went hunting this evening and shot a buck.”
“You took Davey hunting?” The expression on her face made him wonder if he’d done something wrong.
“Couldn’t see your winter stash of meat anywhere. Thought you could use some venison. Still lots of cold weather left.”
“I appreciate your kindness,” she said. “Did Davey like hunting? We always figured he’d be a bit squeamish.”
“Didn’t faint or say anything to make me believe he was uncomfortable with the whole scene. Kind of got excited when the critter fell.”
“Good. I told Jacob he coddled him too much. A boy needed to grow naturally into the ways of the land.” She sighed. “But then Davey’s father was never meant to work a farm. I should have agreed to live in town and let him work his way up in the banking business. That’s where his heart was.”
A shadow fell across her face and she went silent. Bernie lifted the faintly lit lantern and went into the kitchen. In a clean bowl he poured the warm broth and grabbed a spoon before heading back. She was sitting up with her back against the headboard