Page 38 of Redeeming the Outlaw
“What do we do now?”
“We go inside, and we wait.”
Esther washed the dirt and blood from her face and changed into a loaned dress. What she would give for a long soak in a steaming tub, but it was a luxury she couldn’t afford right now. She didn’t know when Marshal Briggs might show up with a word about Whit.
She paced nervously in the sitting room, peering out the window every few minutes for any sign of the messenger pigeon. It had been hours since Sarah had sent the bird to Flat River, andstill there was no sign of Marshal Briggs or his men.
She kept replaying the chaotic gunfight from the night before, remembering with vivid horror when Whit had fired at Marshal Briggs. She had seen Briggs go down, though she did not know if he was injured or dead. What if the message never reached him? What if he could not come, or refused to help the man who had shot him?
Esther wrung her hands, murmuring, “Oh Lord, please let Briggs receive the message. Please let him still be alive to come to Whit’s aid.” She knew Briggs’ help was Whit’s only chance of survival. Without the marshal’s intervention, Brodie’s men would surely kill him.
“Esther,” Sarah called from the table. “I’ve made some food. You need to eat.”
As she gave a last wistful look out the window, Esther shuffled her way to the small wooden table where four boys sat, already armed with their utensils. The aroma of freshly baked bread and simmering stew filled the modest kitchen. Sarah placed a butter crock on the table and slid into an empty seat.
“You can sit next to me,” said the youngest boy.
“Thank you.” Esther took the seat and put her hands in her lap.
Sarah offered a simple blessing, and the hungry boys began to eat. Despite its inviting appearance, Esther could only pick at her food, her appetite nearly nonexistent after the day’s gruesome events.
“You should eat something.” The young man at the end of the table looked at her with interest. “You need to keep your strength up.”
“That’s Flynn,” the little boy next to her said. “He’s my brother, but not really my brother.”
“I’m not sure what ‘brother but not really my brother’ means, but brothers are important. I don’t have any. Just sisters.” Esther took a piece of buttered bread from Flynn and placed it next to her bowl.
“Ma took us in after our actual parents died,” he said, buttering another piece of bread and handing it to Sarah.
“Flynn, what did I tell you about saying too much?” Sarah warned.
“Sorry, Ma,” he cast his eyes to the side.
“Sorry, Ma,” the youngest said.
Esther looked around the table. “I feel like I’m missing something.”
“These boys became my sons after they lost their parents.” Sarah stirred her stew before dunking her bread in it. “I don’t want them getting mixed up with outlaws.”
“Outlaws?” Flynn asked. “Are you part of the Richards gang?”
“That’s enough, Flynn,” Sarah admonished.
Esther’s gaze met Flynn’s. He appeared to be around the same age as Austin. Austin hoped joining the Richards gang would provide a way for him to support his family. Instead, it led to a brutal and premature end to his life.
“You should stay away from outlaws,” she advised, echoing his mother’s words.
The clattering of hooves tore Esther’s attention away from her plate. She bolted from the table and rushed to the window, her stomach churning with fear. Her face pressed against the cool glass as she saw two riders galloping toward Sarah’s house, their horses’ nostrils flaring.
One rider held a figure hanging limp on a blanket in front of him. Esther’s hand flew to her mouth as a strangled sob escapedher throat.
“It’s Whit!” she cried. Tension coiled in Esther’s chest as she recognized Marshal Briggs and one of the Pickett boys riding into the yard, carrying a badly beaten Whit between them. Her breath caught in her throat, and she felt her heart crack at the sight of him.
“Whit!” she cried, opening the door and rushing off the porch.
Briggs slid off his horse. “Bass, help me get him down and inside.”
“No.” Sarah held her hands out. “He can’t come in here.”
