"Ain't that the beatenist?" Ishmael leaned against the table.

"He done paid for a man he don't even know!"

"So did that Samaritan feller track down them thieves and string 'em up?" Ivy's enthusiasm made her every bit as wiggly as Dale. "I shore do love a tale when folks get their comeuppance!"

"The Bible doesn't tell us what happened," Galen said. "This was a parable-a made-up story Jesus used to make folks think. Listen to this verse: Jesus asked, "Which now of these three, thinkest thou, was neighbour unto him that fell among the thieves?"'

"Dunno." Ishmael's forehead creased. "That story thar didn't say whar any of 'em lived. Jist said they was happenin' along."

Ivy's nose wrinkled. "Was it s'posed to be a riddle?"

"*He that shewed mercy on him."' Galen pointed to the verse in the Bible. "That's the answer the man gave to Jesus. *Then said Jesus unto him, Go, and do thou likewise.' So what we're to do is think that everyone is our neighbor, and we're to be kind and helpful whenever an opportunity presents itself."

Mr. Grubb snorted. "'Twas easy 'nuff fer that Sam feller to holp. He got money and a strong mule. He even had hisself wine. I reckon folks who got so much cain holp out, 'cuz plenty of us ain't able to." He jerked his chin toward Ishmael. "We got work waitin' back home."

"I'll cut some pie." Ruth headed for the pie safe. "Ivy? Ishmael? Did you want pumpkin or pecan?"

"Pecan!" Ivy lit up.

Ishmael chortled. "Yore askin' a gal from the South if 'n she'd like herself a slice of pecan? Might as well have asked a beaver if 'n he likes birch!"

"Oh, I ain't et pecan pie in six years or better," Ivy said as she joined Ruth at the table. As soon as Ruth cut a generous slice, Ivy grabbed it right off the server and bit into it. "Mmm! Oh, it's wonderful good!"

"It's my grandmother's recipe," Hilda told her as she set aside her knitting. "If you'd like, I'll write it down for you."

Mr. Grubb snorted. "Ain't no use. The gal cain't read a word."

"That doesn't matter," Laney burst out.

"Shore does," Mr. Grubb said, giving her a dark look.

"You read, don't you, Ishmael?" Galen asked.

"Some. Not as much as I wish."

"I'm starting a library for the town." Ruth didn't bother to ask Ishmael what kind of pie he wanted. She cut another huge wedge and served it straight into his hands. "You're welcome to come to the Broken P and borrow books any time."

"And until you can read, I'm sure Ishmael will read aloud to you." Laney took a deep breath. "Josh read aloud to me all the time until Ruth taught me to read this past year."

Pain shot across Ivy's features. She dipped her head and muttered, "Yore funnin' me."

"No, Ivy," Laney said quietly. "I'm not."

"We're all very proud of the hard work Laney put into learning." Galen's voice resonated with warmth.

"See?" Hilda waggled a knitting needle at them. "I'll be sure to write my recipe down for you, Ivy. Until you learn to read, your father or brother can read it to you."

"It's past time we left," Mr. Grubb announced as he slapped his knees and rose.

He can't read, either. The realization stunned Laney. He'd belittled his own daughter, which was horrid in and of itself; but he'd done it over something he lacked himself.

In less than a minute, Mr. Grubb had said good-bye, made sure Ivy had hold of the pot she'd come bearing, and pushed his children out of the O'Sullivan home.

"I'm looking forward to your help tomorrow, Ivy!" Mrs. O'Sullivan called from her doorstep.

"I'll be here. You cain count on me!" Ivy's voice faded as she added, "Thankee for the grand day."

"Ma?"

Mrs. O'Sullivan turned around. "Aye?"

Sean was drying a platter. "Ishmael and Ivy are nice, but their da-I tried hard to like him, but it didn't work. He's greedy and mean."

"He rubs me the wrong way, too," Galen agreed with a grimace. "We'll have to be good neighbors and pray for them."

"It strains my mind," Ruth said, "to think that in this day and age, someone hasn't heard the gospel."

"Our example will say far more than our words." A wry smile tilted Galen's mouth. "Ishmael watches me like a hawk."

"Aye, that he does." Mrs. O'Sullivan stared out the window. "A while back we heard Ishmael whistling a hymn Galen left the house singin' that very morning."

"Speaking of hymns ..." Laney slipped past Galen and went to the far side of the bed. She'd waited a long time to share this surprise with the O'Sullivans and now pulled out the gift hidden in her knitting bag.

"This is for your family. Because, well-" All of the tender things she'd thought up and practiced saying fled her mind. She slipped her knitting bag into Mrs. O'Sullivan's hands. "Today is Thanksgiving. We want to give thanks that Cullen O'Sullivan was such a big-hearted man."

"What have we here?" Mrs. O'Sullivan pulled out the book.

"The Sacred Melodeon," Galen read aloud.

Mrs. O'Sullivan's mouth formed a tremulous smile. "This is so kind of you. My Cullen always loved to sing hymns."

Galen nodded somberly.

"Our Galen whistles or sings every morning now when he goes out to work." Dale stood on tiptoe to get a better look at the book.

"Open it," Laney urged.

"In memory of Cul-" Mrs. O'Sullivan's voice broke as she tried to read the inscription.

Looking up at Galen, Laney said, "I wanted to do something special because your father was such a wonderful man of God."

Galen's hand found hers and squeezed it. "What a thoughtful gesture. We'll treasure it."

Josh slapped Galen on the back. "My sister's tongue-tied for the first time in her life. What she's trying to tell you is that the church now has hymnals in your father's honor."

"Oh," Sean said with a frown. "Mr. Lufe won't make up his funny words anymore."

"Now that," Hilda said with great enthusiasm, "is something we can all truly be grateful for!"

"Pa's gonna be happier'n a dog with two tails," Ivy declared the next day as she set the second hot pumpkin pie on the table.

Mrs. O'Sullivan smiled. "My own da used to use that same expression. It brings back many a pleasant memory."

Ivy nodded. Try as she might, she couldn't come up with a single time with Pa that brought happy thoughts to mind.

"The laundry ought to be dry in a little bit." Mrs. O'Sullivan went over to the pie safe.

Ivy held her tongue. If Mrs. O'Sullivan wanted to put the pies in her safe, she could-but they'd store better if left to cool awhile first.

"You and I are going to sit out in the sunshine and finish this off." Mrs. O'Sullivan turned around, a pie tin in her hands.

"Hilda's pecan pie!"

"Grab us each a fork. We'll sit together and eat straight out of the tin."

"You don't have to ask me twice!" A minute later, Ivy sat beside Mrs. O'Sullivan on the porch steps and took a bite of the pie. "Mmmm!" She closed her eyes. "It's even better than I 'membered." Her eyes opened. "And that's sayin' a mouthful!"

Mrs. O'Sullivan stuck her fork in and took a bite. "There's something different about her recipe. We'll look at the ingredients together and figure out how she manages to make it so good."

Ivy stared at the way her dress draped over her bony knees. "You don't mind readin' to me?"

"And why would I?"

Boom! The ground shook.

Ivy sprang to her feet. Mrs. O'Sullivan did the same. They turned toward the sound, and Ivy started running.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

Ishmael and Galen both streaked past her on bareback as she ran toward home. Ivy held the stitch in her side and forged ahead. By the time she reached the clearing, Josh McCain and three of his men had arrived, as well.

The lean-to was gone. Its logs littered the area and burned like torches. Parts of the still lay strewn about, most of them sparking. A ball of flames consumed the mule cart Pa had used for storing the full jugs. Dried leaves crackled and blew in the wind that continued to fan the flames higher.

Pa wasn't anywhere to be seen, and their mule was missing, too.

"Mind the horses!" Josh shouted at Ivy as he shoved the reins into her hands.

Ivy managed to drag the horses over to the rope Ishy used to hang food. It took every last bit of her strength to tie them all.

The area filled with acrid dark gray smoke. Ivy strained to see what was going on. The men hollered at one another. As he had before, Ishy used their shovel to scoop dirt over the flames to extinguish them. Ivy longed to go help, but she didn't dare leave the horses.

Just as thick as the smoke, fear and sadness blanketed her. Pa's done it now. He's blown up the works, and Mr. O'Sullivan's gonna be hoppin' mad. He'll drive us from his land, and we won't have nothing at all to take with us this time.

It took forever, but the men finally had matters under control. Galen O'Sullivan stomped up to Ishy and roared something at him. Ivy couldn't make out the exact words, but that didn't much matter. Another feller went over and told them something. Mr. O'Sullivan and Ishy both turned and looked at her.

Mr. O'Sullivan shoved back some of his hair and said something more.

Ivy didn't want her brother to suffer alone. Pa ought to step up and be a man. Seeing as he wasn't, Ivy determined the horses were calming down, so she went to stand by her brother's side.

Ishy clamped a hand around her waist and dragged her up tight against his side. He was trying to protect her from his boss's wrath, but Ivy wouldn't allow it. She pushed away and faced him. "Soon as Pa comes back, we'll be gone."

Galen O'Sullivan looked at her, then next at Ishy, and clamped his mouth shut.

Ishy yanked her back to his side.

"Yore nice shirt is burnt," she blurted out.

"Sis-" "I-" Ishy covered her mouth with his other hand. "You gotta listen to me."

She nodded, and he took his hand away.

"Pa ain't comin' back."

"Well?" Galen looked around the small circle of men in the pastor's parlor.

"It's a difficult situation," the pastor said slowly.

"We've looked at the situation from a dozen different angles, but nothing is clear." Galen finally sat down.

Rick Maltby, the only attorney around, folded his arms across his chest and leaned back. "Let me get this straight: The Grubbs are illegal squatters-"

"Were illegal squatters." Galen wanted to be scrupulously honest. "I came to an agreement with them."

The sheriff shook his head. "It's cut and dried as far as I see. Those people operated an illegal still."

"They didn't; their father did," Galen clarified.

"The twins knew about the still, and the girl was growing corn for it." The sheriff bashed his fist into his open palm. "That implicates her, if not her brother."

"Galen told us their crop was just now ready for harvest." Maltby pinched his lower lip and tugged on it thoughtfully. "It could be argued that Ivy Grubb didn't support her father's illegal enterprise."

Galen wasn't sure whether Rick truly felt he could support such an argument or if he was trying to nettle the sheriff. The two of them had been at odds ever since they discovered one supported Breckinridge while the other voted for Lincoln.

Josh frowned. "Where did Mr. Grubb get the corn and sugar for the whiskey he's been producing?"

"I'd like to know that myself." The sheriff leaned forward. "We've had a rash of thefts recently. The thefts began around the time the Grubbs arrived. If they're not guilty, then I suspect whoever was supplying the corn and sugar might have been financing his partnership with what he stole."

"We can ask Ishmael. He might be able to tell you who it is." Galen heaved a sigh. "He's worked hard for me."

"Their father died." Pastor Dawes spoke in a quiet voice, and Galen couldn't tell whether he'd muted his voice because of compassion for Ishmael and Ivy or because he knew Galen would be sensitive about the subject of death. The minister added, "Their loss seems like punishment enough."