Page 52 of In These Hills

He slipped his hat on. “Well, I hope this proves to be a . . . better situation for you, Mrs. Dunham. Uncle Jack’s a good man, and a lot of people in this town are right partial to him. Look up to him. Not to mention are employed by him. Regardless that you don’t see eye to eye with him on the subject of whiskey.”

And there it was again. Suspicion. Clear as day.

“Good day, Mr. Coburn. I’ll make certain Mr. Daniel gets your message.”

He didn’t move. “What I said before, about you being the type of woman to listen. I didn’t mean it exactly the way it came out. It’s just with you being part of the suffrage movement and knowing how you all feel about things . . . Seeing you here caught me off guard, is all.”

Josephine just stared, letting the silence answer for her.

He finally tugged the brim of his hat. “Good day to you, Mrs. Dunham.” Almost out the door, he paused. “For what it’s worth, ma’am,” he said quietly, his gaze taking in her face, “whoever did this to you should be whipped. And I will gladly do the honors should he ever show his face in this town.”

“But you promised!” Bethie cried. “You promised Mama and me!”

Dodge reached for her arm, but she jerked away, nearly sending her supper plate crashing to the floor. “I know that, honey. I do. But things have changed. I wish we could still go, too. But—”

“We can go!” Tears welled and spilled. “Just you and me. That’s what Mama wanted. For us to go like we planned. I know it!”

“Bethie . . .” He pulled his chair closer so he could face her square on. “I’m convinced your mama knew before she died that Wyoming wasn’t a possibility anymore. Not with her having to leave us.”

Bethie set her jaw, whether to keep from crying or to hold back words she knew better than to say, he couldn’t tell.

“Wyoming is hard country,” he went on gently. “Wild and treacherous. A person has to carve a life out of land like that. It’s dangerous, sometimes downright hostile. And it’s no place for a little girl.”

“I’m not a little girl! I’m near grown, Uncle Dodge. And I can do this. I’m not scared.” She drew in a thin, hitching breath. “I can help with the cattle. Drive the herd. I ride better than half your hands, you’ve said so yourself. I can drive the wagon, too. You and me . . . we can do it. Please.”

The pleading in her voice cut him clean through. But it was the accusation in her eyes—the betrayal—that twisted the knife.

“Bethie, with everything in me, I wish we could still go. But I’ve had to accept that we can’t. And I’m so sorry, but somehow you’re going to have to find a way to accept that, too.”

She opened her mouth, but he pressed on.

“I’ve put the land up for sale, honey. I signed the papers. It’s only a matter of time now before someone buys it.”

That time frame was hopeful fiction and he knew it. Four hundred and twenty acres wouldn’t sell quickly—not at a fair price—but he couldn’t leave even the smallest door ajar.

Bethie wiped her cheeks with the heel of her hand, fists clenched tight. “Mama still wanted us to go,” she said, voice flat. “Just you and me. She told me that before she died.”

All pleading was gone now. Something harder had taken its place. But it was the shadowed anger in her eyes that confirmed the lie.

“Bethie girl,” Dodge whispered, sinking to one knee so they were eye to eye. “Your mama wouldn’t want you to lie, sweetheart. She didn’t say that . . . did she.”

Her face crumpled. Her breath broke loose into sobs, and Dodge drew her to his chest. For a moment, she went slack against him, weeping the way she had as a little girl after a fall or scraped knee. Then she shoved him away.

“I don’t want to live with you anymore.”

The words struck like a blow.

“Honey . . . this is your home. You and me, we have to stick together now that—”

“I said I don’t want to live with you!” She shoved her chair back. “I don’t want to live here either. I’m gonna go live with Moriah and her family.” She bolted for her bedroom and slammed the door.

Dodge rose, starting to go after her, then stopped. He couldn’t say why, other than he knew he’d only make things worse. He cleared the table, stacked the dishes by the washbasin, then reached for his hat.

Jessie trotted after him.

“Not tonight, girl.” He knelt and rubbed her ears. “You stay here. Watch over Bethie.”

Jessie whined softly, then settled down facing the front door.