Page 109 of In These Hills

“I’m happy to help, Mr. Coburn. I’m not squeamish and don’t mind getting messy.”

“I appreciate that, Mrs. Dunham, but I’d rather you and Bethie stay put. Keep watch with Jessie.”

“What he means”—Bethie looked over—“is he’ll be faster without worrying about you, and he wants you safe instead of watching him cut the boar open and scrape out the innards.”

Josephine looked between them.

Dodge gave a little nod. “That’s about right. But if you want a lesson—” He gestured toward the driver’s bench. “I’ll be back for the other one in about twenty minutes, and that’ll be the best seat in the house.”

Nearly two hours later, as Dodge guided the wagon back through town, Josephine sneaked a look at him—across Bethie, who was sandwiched between them on the bench—and at the blood and mess still staining his clothing, even after he’d washed in the creek.

She’d never seen someone field dress an animal before. Watching Calla kill chickens, while impressive, paled in comparison, and the visuals and stench would long stay with her. She’d gained new respect for butchers and a deeper gratitude for how any kind of meat made it to her plate.

She’d insisted on helping lift the carcasses into the wagon, leaving her skirt and blouse sullied. Each boar weighed at least a hundred pounds, maybe more. Young males, Dodge had said, more tender and less gamey. Despite how quickly he’d worked, buzzards were already circling by the time they pulled out.

He looked over. “You’re sure you don’t want me to take you back to the boarding house first?”

Bethie discreetly nudged her, as if Josephine could have forgotten the girl’s earlier whispered—and surprising—request.

“No, that’s all right, I can walk back. There’s still plenty of daylight left.”

With a nod, he prodded the mules uphill and stopped in front of the cabin. “I might be a while, Bethie. After I drop the boar off with Ol’ Pop—” He looked at Josephine. “He’s our cook for the farm . . . I need to check on the cattle.”

“That’s all right, Uncle Dodge. I’ll be fine.”

Josephine climbed down then turned to help Bethie, bits of twigs, thistle, and dry grass tangled in the back of the girl’s blonde hair. Josephine grabbed the .22 along with Bethie’s satchel from beneath the bench seat as Dodge released the brake.

“We’ll be back in a while. I’ll take Jessie with me and wash her up in the creek.”

He guided the wagon past the barn and around the corner, the set of his shoulders indicating fatigue, or the weight of what could have happened earlier. Likely both. Josephine followed Bethie up the steps, still curious about the girl’s request. She must have landed on her arm harder than she’d admitted.

Bethie closed the front door behind them. “I usually draw my own bath. After all, I am nine.”

“Of course you do. Just tell me where everything is, and I’ll get the water heating. If we hurry, we’ll be done before your uncle gets back.” Josephine kept her tone casual. But the fact that Bethie Coburn saw her as an ally instead of an enemy, even briefly, was no small thing.

“We keep the tub in here.” Bethie opened a door that revealed a storage room smelling faintly of lye and pine. A galvanized tub, large enough for an adult to sit in with knees bent, leaned against one wall. “I can drag it to my room.”

“Oh, I can do that for you. You go ahead and—”

“I can do it.”

And she did, using only her left arm. After showing Josephine where the pots were, Bethie disappeared into her bedroom, tugging the tub behind her and closing the door. Josephine remembered that room from her earlier visit.

The woodstove wasn’t as large or fancy as Miss Mary’s, but it worked much the same. She built the fire, set four pots on the burners, then placed a bucket beneath the pump. She primed it until cold, fresh water finally gushed from the spout, then she filled each pot in turn.

She knocked on the door. “May I come in?”

“Yes.”

Josephine opened it to find Bethie sitting on the bed, her overalls hanging loose from her shoulders, her expression pained.

“What’s wrong, Bethie?”

“I can’t move my arm enough to take off my shirt.”

“Well, here . . . Let me help you.”

Even before Josephine touched her, Bethie winced.