Free Daughter of Joy by Kathleen Morgan

her. “Once again you guide me through the dark times, showing me the way.”
    Abby shoved back her chair and rose. Moving to the stove, she picked up the reheated iron. Then, as she turned, she spied Beth’s cloth doll lying in a heap on the table. A smile on her lips, Abby resumed her ironing, planning all the ways she might use to win a little girl’s heart.

    The stringing of barbed wire in the new, northwest pasture was going well. While he and Devlin worked the southern end, Wendell, Jonah, Henry, and H.C. Chapman were just as busily engaged stretching wire around the rest of the pasture. With any luck, they’d have the job done by tomorrow. Still, Conor wasn’t satisfied with their progress. Something told him he was needed at the house. Something told him things weren’t going well for Beth and their new housekeeper.
    With a ferocity that had marked the whole day of fence stringing, Conor gripped the hammer and pounded a galvanized metal staple to anchor yet another strand of barbed wire into the fence post. Squatting, he swiftly repeated the procedure for the second, lower strand, then straightened.
    “You sure seem in an all-fired hurry to get done today.” His cousin’s deep voice rose from down the line, where he stood beside the tackle block wire stretcher that held the barbed wire taut. “Do you think you could spare a few minutes for me to take a swig of water? Or are you in too big a hurry to get back to that new housekeeper of yours?”
    Conor shot him a narrow glance. Devlin might be his best friend and closest blood relative, but he wasn’t in any mood today to put up with even the most goodnatured of jibes. “I’m sure she’s holding up just fine, ” he retorted stiffly.
    He threw aside his hammer and tossed the extra staples back into the leather pouch tied about his waist. Motioning toward the canteen hanging from the saddle of his big bay gelding grazing placidly nearby, Conor walked to a nearby, rotting tree stump and flung himself down. “If you’re bound and determined to take a break, grab my canteen, too, will you?”
    Devlin was quick to comply. Soon, both men were propped against the tree stump, hats shoved back on their heads, swilling thirstily from their canteens of lukewarm water. A gentle breeze swirled through the tall, still snow-damp grass. Clouds floated across a piercingly blue, autumn sky. The brassy honking of Canadian geese, their tight ranks flying in a flawless V formation, filled the air.
    “Turned into a beautiful day, hasn’t it?” Devlin asked from beside him. “There’s just something special about our Colorado Indian summers, isn’t there?”
    “Suits me.” Conor took another swig of his canteen, then tipped his Stetson forward until it shaded most of his face, and leaned his head back against the tree stump. “By this time of year, I’m glad the bulk of heavy outdoor labor is done. I look forward to winter.”
    “This has been a difficult year, hasn’t it, what with you going through three housekeepers, losing Evan, and Beth finally having to leave school.”
    His cousin’s offhand remark about his son sent a sharp pain lancing through Conor. Though seventeen-year-old Evan had run off over six months ago, even the most casual comment about him still filled Conor with a confusing mix of anger and sorrow. It was bad enough the boy had stolen every red cent Conor possessed, savings most carefully hoarded to pay off taxes and livestock purchases. But the fact his son had turned his back on him, just like Evan’s mother had done, rankled even more deeply. Conor didn’t like to fail, and it was common opinion that he’d failed with Evan.
    “I’ve been through better times, and that’s for sure, ” he muttered through clenched teeth, then banished further thoughts of his backstabbing, ungrateful son from his mind.
    Devlin lifted his canteen in a toast. “Well, here’s to your new housekeeper. May she be the answer to all your