LITMIR.BIZ

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once shared was nothing but a nice memory.

      When Adam had begun courting Beth, Vonnie knew P.K. was pleased. Beth was the kind of woman P.K. appreciated, one who was agreeable. Nothing ever upset her. She was flexible; she adjusted. Whatever Adam wanted, Beth was willing to accommodate. She would be the ideal wife, and her father owned land P.K. had wanted for years.

      When it was apparent she’d lingered too long, Vonnie straightened, color flooding her cheeks. How could she have weakened like that, leaning on Adam and making a spectacle of herself? Beth would think her shamelessly forward.

      Always thoughtful and good-hearted, Beth was the first to the bedside of a sick person, the first to lend a hand at church with any event. True, sometimes Beth’s giving nature could get on her nerves, but Vonnie was honest enough to realize the differences in their personalities. If she was serious about serving God maybe she should try to be more like Beth.

      Quickly regaining her composure, she dropped her hand to her side. “Thank you, Adam. I appreciate your coming. I must admit I was surprised to see your father here.”

      Adam’s eyes followed P.K. as he walked away from the grave site. “I wonder if he didn’t care more about Teague than he’s willing to admit.”

      “If he did, then it’s too bad he never told him,” she said. “For all concerned.” Their eyes met briefly before he looked away.

      “I’m so sorry about your father,” Beth said, slipping her hand into Vonnie’s. “If there’s anything I can do, you must let me know.”

      “Thank you, Beth. Tell your mother I appreciate the chicken she sent over.”

      “I’ll come by tomorrow and—well, we’ll all have a nice, long visit.” She tilted her head, smiling encouragingly. “Would you like that?”

      “That’s kind of you. Mother is so upset. I’m not sure that she’ll be up to visiting. Mrs. Lincoln is going to stay with us a few days to help out, but I’d like your company. The house seems so empty without Daddy—”

      She faltered, a lump forming in her throat. The realization that her father would never again come in the back door and call for Cammy hurt. Never again would he hug her and call her “Puddin’.” Never again would the aroma of his pipe float through the big house he’d helped build with his own hands.

      It seemed so senseless, a man struck down before he could enjoy his declining years. A man who’d worked hard deserved to put his feet up by the fire for a few years at least, didn’t he?

      As the crowd began to disperse, Beth moved Adam toward the Baylor buggy. Cammy was surrounded by several well-meaning matrons who went on about how sad it was that Cammy was “left alone” in her prime. In clucking, sympathetic voices, they invited her to join their quilting club on Thursday afternoons. It was little more than a gossip group, Vonnie knew, but it would be good for Cammy to be with friends.

      Vonnie’s gaze moved over the mourners, most of whom were heading back to the house to eat lunch from the food brought in; all except the Baldwins. The five men had ridden away immediately after the ceremony.

      It was evening by the time the farm quieted down. The house was so still that Vonnie couldn’t stand it. She decided to go check on the ostriches. Suki followed her outside and scampered around her feet, demanding attention, as she walked toward the pens that were built two hundred yards back from the house.

      “Settle yourself,” Vonnie scolded the dog. “You’ll upset the birds acting like that.”

      The ostriches were accustomed to Suki’s interruptions, but they were easily disturbed by anything out of the ordinary.

      Ten pens stood in a row, with a pair of adult ostriches in each. The little “waddlebabies” were kept separate, each hatch together in a pen until they were big enough to begin pairing.

      The most recent hatch was only a week old, but they were a handsome group. Vonnie liked watching them. They ran back and forth in the pen as if on a very important mission, their brown-gray feathers just covering bodies balanced on legs that looked far too thin to support egg-shaped abdomens and long, thin necks. Large eyes were as bright and curious as buttons; they split their time pecking at various bits on the ground and watching her approach.

      “Hello, babies,” Vonnie crooned, counting the chicks to make sure they were all accounted for.

      Some of the young ones came to the fence and peered up at her, a couple of them pecking at the woven wire fence in curiosity. She slowly walked around each pen, checking that no wires were loose or had slipped and that the edges were all anchored into the ground. The pen material had to be specially made with squares of wire, small enough to keep the adult ostriches from poking their heads through and choking, yet large enough so the little ones could get their heads out if they poked them through.

      They weren’t the dumbest birds in the world. They just seemed like that sometimes. Curious, they’d try for anything that captured their attention, sometimes getting their heads hung in the fence. More than once, Teague had lost his hat to the lively birds.

      If frightened, they’d run pell-mell into the end of the fence, breaking wings, necks or legs in their hasty flight. And they were temperamental. Like humans, some were gentle and some had a temper. Some could be handled and petted; others didn’t want to be touched at all.

      They could be persuaded to move to another area, not herded there. An adult ostrich could run like the wind, reaching unbelievable speeds. A man on a fast horse would have difficulty catching one, once it got going.

      Tears brightened her eyes. But, oh, how her father had loved these funny-looking creatures. Did they miss the sound of his voice, the gentle touch of his hand?

      Suddenly Vonnie detected a shadow from the corner of her eye.

      “Who’s there?”

      She peered into the twilight, a frown creasing her forehead. Goose flesh raised on her arms.

      “Who’s there?”

      A figure stepped from behind a tall cactus at the edge of the pens.

      “Andrew?” she said, relieved when she recognized him. “You frightened me.” A person could get himself shot creeping around the ostrich pens. The hands knew to shoot first and ask questions later.

      “Sorry,” he said.

      Andrew Baldwin was nearly as tall as Adam, with the same wavy brown hair. He was the most serious of the four boys. He’d walked with a limp ever since she could remember, the result of a fall from the loft of the Baldwin barn. He had broken his leg, and the injury had never healed properly. Andrew was rumored to have read all the books in his father’s library, a feat P.K. himself had never accomplished.

      “Just stopped by to see how you’re doing,” Andrew said, “and decided to take a look at the birds.”

      “You gave me a bit of a start,” Vonnie admitted. “I’m surprised to see you out this late.”

      “I wanted to talk to you at the cemetery today. But there were a lot of people around, and you were talking with Adam.”

      “I’m glad you came.”

      “Wanted you to know if there’s anything I can do to help—”

      “Thank you, Andrew. I appreciate that.”

      Andrew was the odd duck in the Baldwin group. Where Adam was most like his father, Andrew was broody and quiet. No one really knew what was going on in his mind.

      The sound of a horse coming at a fast clip drew their attention. Vonnie identified the tall figure astride the big bay immediately.

      “Looks like we have company,” she murmured, watching Adam dismount.

      “Andrew.” Adam acknowledged his brother as he approached. “I didn’t expect to see you here.” His eyes swept Vonnie curiously.

      “I wasn’t

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