The Fire in Ember - DiAnn Mills [49]
Bess planted her hands on her ample hips and stared at Bert. “Can you cook?”
Bert swallowed a sigh. “I’ve done some cooking.”
“Good. I need help tonight with supper. Need some chickens plucked for dumplings.”
Bert nodded. She’d finished sweeping and could use anything to keep her mind from mulling over her predicament. “Whereabouts outside do I pluck them?”
“I’ll show you. Come on. We can do it together.”
Misery clung to Bert. She’d prefer to handle those chickens by herself. Talking to a woman who was friends with Marshal Culpepper didn’t settle well.
“You look real happy about being here, Miss Ember.” Bess chuckled.
“I appreciate what you’re doing, ma’am.”
“What is it then? I understand John needs you here to keep you safe and make sure you’re not involved with cattle rustlers.”
Bert stiffened. “Do I look like a cattle thief?”
“What about Oberlander’s mare?”
One more person knew about her near-hanging. Bert shook her head. “It’s all complicated. But I didn’t steal the horse, and I had nothing to do with the cattle rustlers.” That much was true.
Bess pointed toward the kitchen. Bert followed her out onto the back porch where the smell of blood from the chickens met her nostrils. Bess picked up a large bucket of steaming water and grabbed the two beheaded and gutted chickens by the feet and plunged them into the steaming water. Three other chickens draped over the porch rail, their guts spilling out onto the ground where a couple of cats enjoyed a feast.
“If you’ll start pulling out those feathers, I can clean these others.” Bess picked up a large knife and waved it. “Mind you get all of those pin feathers. Burn them out of their behinds. Make ‘em as smooth as a baby’s rear. Our guests deserve the best.”
“Yes ma’am.”
“This afternoon’s prayer meetin'. We have it about four o’clock before supper guests, and the girls have to go to work.”
Bert weighed the words, trying to figure out what she was supposed to do.
“I can’t leave to go to church, so I hold it right here on the back porch with a couple of the girls from the saloon,” Bess said. “That means we need to get these chickens done and the mess cleaned up. Hard to talk to Jesus when cats and birds are picking at the chicken guts. Hopefully a breeze will carry off the smell.”
What had John gotten her into?
“Are you a believer?”
“In what?”
“God.”
“Sorta,” Bert said.
“Honey, you either believe in Jesus or you don’t. Which is it?” Bess wielded the knife again, and with her size, Bert knew better than to rile her.
“Girl, don’t look at me like I’m going to whittle on you. I simply asked a question.”
“I went to church a couple of times with the Timmonses.”
“Bein’ in a building doesn’t make you a believer.”
What does? “Ma’am, I’m confused as to your meaning.”
“Thought so.” Bess split the chicken right down its belly. “From the talk around town, you need Jesus in your life. Especially if you’re about to get hanged as a cattle thief.”
Bert’s eyes widened and her stomach churned. She yanked out a handful of feathers, burning her hands in the hot water.
“No need to fear dying if you have Jesus.” Bess shooed away a cat that had gotten too close to the chickens.
Bert tossed a handful of feathers into a gathering pile on the ground. For sure she wasn’t ready to die. “Where do I find Him?”
Bess stood and grinned. “Thought you’d never ask.”
CHAPTER 21
John and Bob rode out of Rocky Falls with three of Oberlander’s men and four volunteers, following up on a lead that Bess had heard the night before. One of the ranchers riding with them stated he’d seen Leon Wilson southeast of town near Sparky McBride’s ranch, the High Plains. A deserted cattle camp bordered McBride’s land and the 5T, and Leon could be holed up there. Farther south led to deep canyons, which was a smart place to keep stolen cattle and a prime area to hide from the law. But to get there, he’d have to cross the High Plains and a long strip of land owned by Victor Oberlander. Hard to drive cattle over either of those areas without being spotted.
Leon might be looking