AUGUST 11th, 1885

It rained all night and on and off all day. How glorious! The ground has opened up and drunk its fill and is green once again!

Lily has blossomed along with it, and there is a spark in her eye, and her cheeks have already grown plump and rosy in just a few days time.

After supper, I expected Woody to stay and sit with me and Lily, as he has been doing, but he mumbled something about some work he needed to do and left.

I was baffled, I have to say and stood there at the door completely flummoxed. When I turned to Lily, she was giving me another of her knowing looks.

"What's gotten into him?" I mumbled when I finally sat down beside her.

She laughed breezily. "You've got him so he doesn't know if he's coming or going. Can you blame him? You did kiss him."

"Oh, that," I said. "It was just in fun. I suppose I got carried away."

"But he doesn't know that," she said, suddenly serious. "And why should it be just in fun? I know he's your employee, a hired hand. But how many times have I heard you say how you don't care what others think? Anyway, Woody Hoyt is a fine catch." She leaned in a little to me, and her voice dropped. "Don't you deserve to be happy, Jo?"

"Who says I'm not happy?" was what I finally said. What I wanted to say was that I'm sure she thought Matthew Seely was a "fine catch," too, but I couldn't have been so cruel.

"Haven't you ever been in love, Jo?" she asked me, and her voice was dreamy.

I had had my share of suitors when I was younger. I thought I had been in love once or twice, but looking back, I was not. "Love is a disappointment," I said.

She chuckled. "O, you don't really believe that, do you?" She went on with a faraway look in her eye. "I know my heart belonged to someone else when I met Matt, but even now there are times when Matt curls up around me and we're like two spoons in a drawer, and I feel..." She chuckled and blushed a little. "And now I'm carrying a baby," she cried out and grabbed my hand in hers, her eyes rimmed with tears. "O, Jo! I can't imagine never knowing what those things feel like!"

I didn't mean to be cold, but I pulled my hand from hers and picked up my needlework and let the subject end there.

AUGUST 12th, 1885

Matt Seely came to fetch Lily in the wagon today. She cried and pressed her handkerchief to her mouth as they drove off, and there were a few tears in my eyes, too. I was surprised to find how much I've missed the company of a woman my own age. I am sorry she has to leave, and sorrier still she has to leave with Matt.

Woody still will not look me in the eye for some foolish reason, and it has been quite lonely with no one to talk to. To distract myself, I went into Sweet Grass to fetch the mail.

Tallulah Simmons was in Nigel's store buying a bolt of fabric. I said "hello" to her, and she said nothing. I thought she didn't hear, so I repeated it. She looked through me like I was invisible and then walked right past me out the store!

Nigel was frowning when I looked back his way. "It's that man you've hired. You've brought an Indian in their midst, and there's sure too be trouble, they say."

"But he's not an Indian!" I sputtered.

Nigel shook his head sadly. "It matters little, Miss Jo. He's different. That's all they need to see."

I paid for my things and left, only to see that Tallulah Simmons in the street with her mouth pressed against some matron's ear. They looked away and at least had the decency to pretend they weren't talking about me. Others weren't so decent. I could feel the eyes of passersby on me and the heat of their stares on my back as I turned.

A man's voice reached out to me like icy fingers. "You'll bring trouble on his all, Jo Cavanaugh!"

I whipped around with fire in my eyes. "Who said that!" I yelled at them with venom. They all turned away and went about their business. "Cowards!" I hissed at them.

My eyes fell on Eddie and Trey, who were loaded bags onto their wagon for Henry Slokum. They looked away in shame when they saw me.

I had started to shake with anger, I admit, but I held my head up as I rode away, even when I heard some whisper to another, "Living out there all alone. She's crazy like her mother."

I charged past Woody and Bug when I returned. I could hear Woody behind me asking if everything was all right, but I didn't answer. I ran inside and sat down on the edge of the bed with my fists clenched until I could breath slowly.

Bug musn't know what I heard in town, although I am sure he is already aware of the talk.

AUGUST 15th, 1885

I made a cherry pie for Lily. She seemed to have a sweet tooth when she was here, so I thought she might like it. I sent it with Bug, with my compliments. He has taken a shine to her, I think, and he was glad to do it.

He was not yet back by supper, and when he finally returned he said he'd found that Matt had ridden into Bozeman for the day, so he decided to stay at the Seely place to help Lily with the chores.

Anyway, she sent back a nice note with Bug thanking me for the pie. I wish Matt had brought her here so we could keep an eye on her if he was going to be gone all day. I think I will send Bug again tomorrow to make sure Matt returned. I will tell him to bring her back here if he ever finds here alone again.

AUGUST 20th, 1885

Woody lingered tonight after supper. I didn't expect it, as there's been a bit of a strain between us, the cause of which had been lost on me.

He stood leaning in the door while I cleared away the table, watching what I did but not speaking.

"It's a fine night," he said after a long quietness.

I stood next to him in the door while I took it in. Summer is waning, and there was a warm, gentle breeze coming up from the prairie. The moon was full and bright, and its light bathed everything in a glowing blue. All the stars in the sky seemed to have come out. "Yes, it is," I said simply, and it was.

He offered me the crook of his elbow with little smile, and I took it. We walked down the bank to the pond, and the moon's reflection danced over its surface. No one said much. I gathered my skirt under me and sat against the weeping willow, while he dropped pebbles into the water.

"What happened?" he asked and pointed over at the graves.

I sighed and took a deep breath. "Pa died when a wagon turned over and crushed him. Mama died a few years later. She had stopped eating, stopped speaking. She spent most of her days sitting here or by the fire. One morning, she just didn't wake up."

He was quiet a minute and then wandered away a piece.

"A man could make his life here," he said.

I didn't know he'd grown so attached to the territory. Most hired hands work a season or two and move on.

"Did you ever think of getting married, Miss Jo?" he said in a way that I couldn't quite tell if it was an invitation or a request for information.

"I like my life as it is, Woody. Marriage is not what I want," I said back to him.

He walked over and sat next to me against the tree. I was reminded suddenly of the afternoon months ago when we met here, and he tucked the wildflower in my hair. I was glad he could not see me blush pink in the darkness. "And what is it you want, Jo?"

"Why, no more than what I already have," I said.

"Is that what you really want?" he teased. "Or is that what you just say you want?"

I found I could not answer but sat in thought with my chin on my knees.

He stood and offered me his hand. I took it, and he pulled me to my feet. There was a rock there, and I lost my footing. With a little cry, I stumbled forward, my hands reaching out into the darkness.

But then he had me, his arms pulling me to him, his hands on my waist. I could see his face awash in the eerie blue of the light, and I found that I could neither move nor speak. He lifted one hand to my face, and pressed it there. I thought he might kiss me, and O! I daresay I wanted him to! I wanted to feel his lips on mine for just that one moment, and my heart skittered with anticipation.

"We should be getting back," he said, and his voice was rough.

I nodded, and we quickly hurried back to the house, where he left me with not another word.

O, what have I done! I have realized how much I have come to rely on him in just a few months. He is a good worker, and a good and true friend. A silly stroll in the moonlight musn't change that.

The subject will not come up again.

AUGUST 23rd, 1885

I must write this all down so I will never, ever forget, although I think it will be forever etched in my brain.

I sent Woody into Sweet Grass and asked if on his way home from town, he could stop by the Seely place to see how Lily is faring. Bug was disappointed, I think, not to have the opportunity to see Lily, but I did not want to send him into that nest of vipers in town if I didn't have to.

Woody left after breakfast, and it was a trip that should have taken no more than half a day. I had sent him with biscuits and some cheese to eat along the way, but I half expected him back by midday for a meal.

Still, I did not worry, as any number of things can delay on the road to town. I hoped for a moment that he had found Lily alone and had decided to stay, but then I remembered I had told both of them to be sure and bring her back here if they ever found that to be the case.

It is not in my nature to worry, but I do admit that I had begun to fear for the worse.

"I'm sure he's fine, Miss Jo," Bug said solemnly while we ate our supper, but I wasn't sure if he believed it.

I could feel a sense of dread build as we heard a rumbling in the distance. There was a thunderstorm coming, and we stood in the door while we watched the thick grey clouds sweep in.

"It's heading in from the west. If he's on the road, he's already caught up in it," I was surprised to hear how my voice had risen to a thin, strained pitch.

"There are some abandoned houses on the way from the Seely place. I'm sure he must have taken shelter," Bug said helpfully, but I could see there was concern in his eyes, too. "As soon as it clears, he'll start out again."

We sat there together in the house, waiting for him to return. I could neither sit nor sew nor talk. I paced for more than an hour, looking outside for signs of Woody. The sky was black, and in the wind, the trees bent almost to breaking.

"Miss Jo," Bug finally said in a gentle voice. "It's late. I'm sure it will be clear by morning, and he'll be back. Why don't you sleep?"

"I can't sleep while he's out there in this," I said, no longer willing to hide my anguish. I knew then as sure as I breathe that there was something dreadfully wrong.

Bug looked at me helplessly, and we were answered then by the sound of hooves drawing close. I dashed outside, not caring about the inevitable drenching. It was Woody's horse approaching, walking too slowly in this weather. There was a storm of Biblical proportions overhead. Why did Woody not race him home?

I could see then with mounting fear the reason why. Woody sat hunched in the saddle, his head down, and he did not respond when I called out to him.

"Where have you been!" I called out to him with tears in my voice. I didn't care if I sounded like a scold. There was no answer.

Bug had gone over to take the reins as the horse slowed to a halt. I could see his eyes grow wide, and he turned to me. "Miss Jo!" he called out, and I raced over.

Woody slid from the horse, and Bug and I barely caught him before he fell to the ground. "Get him into the house! Now!" I yelled to Bug.

We stumbled inside, me at his feet, Bug at his head, and we carried him over to my bed. He was moaning and shaking with cold, but his forehead burned. "He's got a fever," I called out to Bug. "Bring me the lamp so I can see!"

Bug nodded and raced over by the stove to get the lamp. I reached over to pull off his rain-slicked jacket. His shirt underneath was saturated through with the damp, and I tried to lift his shoulders off the bed to pull the shirt off from under him. He cried out in pain, and then there was nothing. His eyes flickered shut, and his head lolled to one side on the pillow.

Bug was back with the lamp, then, and drew it across the bed. His shirt was not soaked through with rain at all.

"Lord, no..." I hissed under my breath, and pulled the shirt open. There was a wound on his left side just above the waist of his pants.

"He's been shot," Bug said gravely, and I nodded once in fearful agreement.

We did what we could, cleaning and wrapping his wound. He is still unconscious, yet he moans in pain even in his sleep. Bug has set off in the rain to ride all the way into Bozeman to fetch Dr. Macy. I do not expect them back before tomorrow.

I dare not even think who did this any more than I can dare wonder what I would do without him.

I will sit here by his side until Dr. Macy and Bug return, and I will pray that Woody lasts until then.

What else can I do?