From Mourning to Joy

at the picture she’d put into words, before continuing. “But I reckon she’d overlook a parcel of shortcomings if you’re kind to her boy. The sun rises and sets on the lad.”
“I’ll remember that.” Bernie paid for his purchases and tipped his hat. “Wish me luck.”
“I’m thinking the Good Lord can answer two prayers today – a roof for you and help for Janelle.” Henry gave him a stern look. “Mind you; we take care of our own hereabouts. Any man hears tell you hurt a hair on their heads, this country won’t be big enough to hide in. Sheriff Knight will hunt you down and drag you back screaming for mercy.”
“Not interested in hurting folks. Too much pain in this world as it is,” said Bernie.
“Good then; long as we’re in agreement, you should do fine. She’s just a speck of a gal; not cut out for running a farm, but stubborn as a mule. Probably the spring will find her moving to town, after she’s made peace with leaving her dreams behind.” Henry moved back to his ledger and started to enter some numbers.
Bernie rode out of town. Belle seemed a nice place to wait out the winter. If Janelle Rimes did not welcome him, he’d move on, but recommend she move to town where folks cared about her. He looked at the threatening sky. The storm continued to hover in the distance but Bernie felt the wind bite against his face as he rode the three miles to the farm. Those gusts would surely blow the dark clouds this way before the day was out. Being used to Texas, Wyoming winters seemed unfit for man or beast, let alone – how did the storekeepers describe the widow – a speck of a gal.

Chapter 2
The chill in the air kept him moving at a quick pace. The small farm was a mere fifteen-minute ride out of Belle. Surely someone could find the time to check on the family. It wasn’t far. People got busy, he supposed, and no one enjoyed even a short ride in cold weather. He kicked his horse to a gallop and closed the distance quickly. When he rounded the final corner and his eyes fell on the Rimes cabin, his heart sunk. This did not look like a potential answer to his dilemma. Henry had been gracious in his comments about the place. Shabby to say the least, and evidence the owner couldn’t afford to fix it up.
The majestic backdrop of frosty, winter-white mountains stole his breath, and he could hear the faint trickle of the nearby river. Bernie understood why a man would settle his family on this land. A sudden homesickness rippled through his senses for the first time in years. It appeared no matter how bad the state of one’s existence, the image of home – even if it was a delusion – always held a special place in the heart.
Upon further scrutiny, Bernie noticed that no smoke billowed from the chimney. He glanced toward the barn, and leaning against the outside wall was a full line-up of firewood, so fuel wasn’t the problem. Maybe she’d pulled out with the boy and didn’t tell anyone in town. He brightened at that prospect. Her loss would be his gain, for an abandoned cabin was free for the using and would provide him a warm shelter for the rest of the winter. With new hope pushing him forward, he nudged his horse and sped down the gradual slope toward the building.
He drew closer and abruptly reined in his horse at the sight of a brown-haired lad peeking out from the open crack in the front door. The boy barely stood the height of the doorknob and his round eyes showed hope at first then fear when it registered a stranger approaching. The door slammed shut, and as Bernie dismounted, he heard the latch pull across the casing. He’d been locked out before being given an opportunity to plead his cause. Hopefully, the woman would be more receptive.
Bernie’s foot gave way on the second step and hit the ground below with a thud. He cussed under his breath while yanking it out from between the wood splinters. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear that youngster had set a trap for unwanted visitors. He returned to his horse limping and untied his peace offering. Maybe that might get him inside.
“Boy, I notice you don’t have a fire burning. Aren’t you cold?” Bernie thought he heard a slight sob then a hiccup following. “I won’t hurt you. I’ve got food and I can get a fire started. Why don’t you let me in?” When no one answered, Bernie tried a different route. “Mr. and Mrs. Stewart from the general store in Belle sent me here, to make sure you were all right.”
That did it. The latch slid back slowly and the door opened a crack again. “You know Mrs. Stewart?”
“She sent me here to check up on you and your Ma.”
“Ma’s sick.”
That explained her absence at the door. Bernie swung the bag closer so the child could see it. “Got a stick of candy in here for you.”
“Tummy’s too sore for anything sweet.”
“You got your Ma’s sickness?”
“No sir. But I did eat my entire birthday cake all by myself when the stew got ruined.”
“You cooked a stew – on a cold stove?”
“No, but Ma did a couple days back and belched in it. The cake saved me from being hungry enough to eat it.”
“Thank goodness. Throw it out and let me rustle you up something. I’m a fair cook, probably not as good as your Ma, but it’ll be better than two-day-old stew.” Bernie avoided expanding on the state of the stew after the belching.
The door opened wider. “Suppose I’d be grateful for help to get