Page 112 of In These Hills

Josephine retrieved it from the hook and helped her slip it on.

“I bet your papa feels bad now . . . About not letting your brother learn to shoot.”

Josephine held open the left sleeve as Bethie slid her arm through, the movement drawing a grimace.

“My parents are gone now, too. They both died a few months after Todd.”

Bethie stilled. “So you ain’t got any family left?”

“Haven’t got any family,” Josephine gently corrected, knowing Dodge would have if he’d been here. “And no, I don’t. Except for my husband, of course,” she added quickly, hating the lie.

Bethie exhaled. “I’m never getting married.”

On the verge of asking why, Josephine held back. She knew why. Children saw more than adults realized. Like the way Bethie looked at her now, not seeing her but the violence she’d endured at the hands of a man. She didn’t know how to respond. She wondered what Kathleen, or even Dodge, had told Bethie about the situation surrounding her birth. And then it came to her . . .

“Bethie, we shouldn’t judge all men by one. There are good men in this world. So to judge them as all being the same isn’t fair to them. Just like not all women, or girls, are the same.” Though she wanted to share more of what Nannie Burroughs and Miss Anthony taught about God creating men and women equally, she didn’t. She’d given Dodge her word she’d steer clear of planting any suffrage-related ideas in Bethie’s head.

She buttoned the gown as Bethie yawned. “Why don’t you leave your right arm inside. It’ll hurt too much otherwise, and you don’t need to be using it anyway. I can make a sling.”

“How do you know about doctoring an arm?”

“I fell out of a tree when I was about your age. Same arm, too.”

“So yours got better?”

“Oh, yes, as will yours.” Josephine wagged a finger. “But only because I let it heal. Which means resting. I’ll find something for a sling. Is there anything else you need?”

“I’m kind of hungry. I’ve got jerky in my satchel.”

“I’ll be right back.”

She found the bag of jerky and hoped it was the same kind Dodge had shared with her early on because she was hungry, too. A brief search in the cupboard yielded an old flour sack, softened by years of washing.

After a few awkward but humorous moments fitting the sling beneath Bethie’s gown and around her neck, Josephine plumped the pillows on the girl’s bed, and Bethie sank back, looking spent.

Josephine handed her a piece of jerky. “Mind if I have some, too?”

“Help yourself,” Bethie mumbled as she tore off a piece with her teeth.

The flavors exploded in Josephine’s mouth, carrying her back to that wagon ride from Tullahoma with Dodge. Not even three weeks ago, though it felt far longer.

The creak of a door drew their gaze toward the main room, and Bethie quickly pulled the bedsheet up to her chin.

“Bethie, I’m back! Sorry, honey, took longer than I thought.”

“We’re in here, Uncle Dodge!”

Panting, Jessie, her fur damp, padded in and dropped beside the foot of the bed.

“Mrs. Dunham . . .” Pleasant surprise swept Dodge’s expression. “You’re still here.”

Josephine hurriedly finished chewing. “Yes, but I’m just leaving. I need to get back in time to clean up and help with supper.”

He glanced at her skirt. “Miss Mary doesn’t like remnants of wild boar on her tenants’ clothing?”

Josephine laughed.

“And you’ve already had your bath,” he said, looking at Bethie.