"I'm not sitting on the fence." Her voice was small in the dark. "I'm just trying to find my way to the path."

"Me too." For now, that would be enough. He took a breath. Then he took a chance. "Maybe we can find it together."

TWENTY-FIVE.

It never rained in South Texas. Except this summer, the pattern seemed to have finally broken. The sky had been cloudy for three days, the air laden with humidity, when Susan set out for town, but that was typical Bee County weather. Maybe the drought was over. Finally. She wiped rain from her eyes and squinted. The driving rain and wind made it hard to see the road in front of her. The wagon swayed and creaked as the horse strained against the gale.

The Byler farmhouse couldn't be much farther. Hazel squirmed in the seat next to her. The little girl tried so hard to be brave, but every time thunder boomed she shrieked and clutched Susan's arm. That made it hard to keep the slippery reins in her hands.

"Child, it's okay. We're fine." She patted Hazel's head for one quick second. The clouds were so dark, the day had turned to night. The ruts filled with water. Lightning split the sky, then receded. "Only a mile or two more."

"I don't like this."

"It's just water." Susan searched for comforting words. "Look at it this way. You've had your bath for the week. You know how you hate taking a bath."

"For two weeks." Hazel sounded only slightly mollified. "You tell Mudder."

"I'll tell your mudder."

Abigail would be tickled. By the time a mother got to her fifth child, baths didn't rise to the level of an argument so much anymore. As long as the child didn't stink or make the sheets muddy.

Thunder boomed so close, Brownie shook his long neck and whinnied.

"Aenti!"

"It's okay, sweet pea. Why don't you sing? Pick a song, any song."

The grip on Susan's arm eased. "La cucaracha, la cucaracha-"

"The what?"

Another voice, as young and sweet as Hazel's, joined in. Susan craned her head and peered at the road. Right there, in the middle of the road. Two figures. Short, thin, little. Kinner. "What . . . who is that?"

"Diego!" The taller child-Lupe-tugged at the shorter one and headed for the side of the road. "Come."

Diego apparently had other ideas. He bolted toward the wagon. Lupe whirled to follow. She slipped and fell in the mud. Diego cackled with glee and kept coming.

Susan tugged on the reins. "Whoa, whoa!"

They came to a halt and she hopped down. "Diego? Lupe? What are you doing out here in this storm?"

"Running away." His face streaked with rain and mud, Diego grinned. "We go to San Antonio."

"Diego." Lupe had mud from the tip of her nose to the end of her bare toes. "Stop telling her."

"Lupe, why are you running away?" Hazel scrambled from the wagon and stomped through the mud with a splat-splat. "You can't leave. We haven't finished our baby quilt."

"Hombre malo. Have to go." Lupe grabbed her brother's arm and jerked him away from Hazel's reach. "We go now."

"Why?"

"Man in van come to take us away. Hombre malo."

"In a blue van?"

"S."

"That's the people Rebekah and Tobias told you about. Rebekah's sister and brother-in-law. He's a good man. Very good man. He used to live here with us. Tobias and Rebekah went to talk to them, remember?"

Lupe's face remained woebegone. "I don't want to leave."

"We don't want you to leave." Susan smoothed the girl's wet bangs from her eyes with gentle fingers. She looked like a half-drowned kitten. "But we also want to do things the right way. Can you understand that?"

Lupe ducked her head. "What if right way is back to frontera?"

"Doing the right thing isn't always easy."

"Nothing easy."

The rain chose that moment to stop. A sliver of sun peeked through clouds that collided, then parted. "You're right. Life isn't easy, but n.o.body promised it would be."

To her utter surprise, Lupe leaned her face into Susan's ap.r.o.n. One sob, then another escaped. "I tired."

"Me too." She hugged Lupe's cold, wet body against her. "We have to go back so Jesse and Leila can help you figure out what to do so you can stay. Running away isn't the answer."

"We could go fishing."

Susan turned to look at Hazel. The little girl squatted in the middle of the road, mud squeezing between her bare, plump toes. "See, the night crawlers are out." She held out a fat worm pinched between two muddy fingers. The brownish-gray worm dangled and wiggled as if trying to get its footing to no avail. "Mordecai says these are the best for catching fish."

Lupe slipped from her grasp and knelt next to Hazel. "My papi is going to take us to California. We're going to go fishing. Mi abuela said so."

Hazel grinned. "Do you want to take some worms? Is California far? They could be like Pedro, your pets. Until the fish eat them."

Of all things to be talking about now. "Hazel, put the worm down. This is no time for-"

"Hey! Hey, Susan!"

Susan pivoted in time to see Tobias emerge from a shack tucked along the other side of the fence that separated the road from Byler property. Right behind him came Rebekah. No one followed. Just Rebekah and Tobias.

"Well." She couldn't think of a thing to say. "Well."

"We were looking for the kinner." Rebekah's clothes were wet, wrinkled, and muddy. When she turned to look at Tobias, who was equally bedraggled, she revealed a huge muddy blotch on the back of her dress where her behind would be. "Then it stormed."

Lupe hopped up, grabbed Diego's hand, and took off running. "No, no," Diego yelled, but Lupe didn't stop. They careened across the road. Lupe shoved her brother through a gap in the fence and they disappeared into a dense thicket of juniper, live oak, mesquite, and nopales.

"Lupe, stop." Tobias raced after them, his long stride eating up ground. "Stop, we only want to help."

Rebekah scampered past him, thrust herself through the same gap, and disappeared after them.

Susan looked at Hazel, who stared back, her tiny face perplexed. "Should we go too?"

"Maybe. Maybe they'll come back for you."

Hazel grinned. "Diego likes me."

"Child!"

She shrugged. "I like him, too, but not like that. He's not Plain."

"That's right." The sooner Hazel learned these things, the better. "Your poor mudder has been through enough."

She took Hazel's hand and together they squeezed through the gap and tried to follow the path left by the others. A shriek made her stop in her tracks. Hazel smacked into her from behind. "Hey."

"What was that?"

Susan picked up speed, moving in the direction of the distinct sound of a child crying. Still holding Hazel's hand, she burst through the stand of trees where she found Rebekah on the ground in a gully filling with rainwater. She clutched at her ankle, her face etched with pain. Tobias knelt next to her, his hand outstretched as if he would touch her. He looked back. His hand dropped. "Gut, you're still here. We'll need your wagon."

"The kinner?"

"They got away."

TWENTY-SIX.

Horses were like people. Some were stubborn, others docile. Some, like children, had wills that had to be bent before they could become hardworking members of society. Tobias contemplated Cracker Jack from his seat on the split-wood fence that comprised the corral outside the saddle shop. The horse stood in the corner, grazing on a tiny patch of weeds that had sprung up in the hard, cracked dirt.

A blazing, late June sun beat down on Tobias's straw hat. Sweat trickled down his temples and tickled his ears. Why was he standing at the corral fence instead of inside working on the cutting saddle? Because all he could think about when he picked up the skiving knife was Daed. And Rebekah. And Lupe and Diego.

He needed a distraction. If Rebekah hadn't turned her ankle, maybe they would've caught up with Lupe and Diego. Maybe they wouldn't have been gone a week now. He blew out air and wiped sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. Or maybe they would've run faster and farther.

He needed to work. No animal was beyond saving. He slid off the fence and let his knees bend when his boots. .h.i.t the dirt in a soft plunk that sent a gra.s.shopper flying across the dandelions and crabgra.s.s.

Adopting an amble, he began the trek across the expanse of dirt and weeds that separated him from the animal that had almost killed his father. Cracker Jack's head came up. He tossed his long, graceful neck and nickered.

"Hey, friend. Nothing to worry about here."

Cracker Jack shook his head in a startling response that looked very much like a "no."

"You have to learn." He kept his voice soft and singsongy the way Daed always did. "We all have to be broken to the will of another."

The horse whinnied and trotted toward the farthest corner.

He had a long memory, no doubt.

Tobias whistled, a tuneless collection of notes that came from nowhere and trailed away to nothing. Cracker Jack's ears perked up. He snorted and pranced. "Are you dancing for me? I'd like nothing more than for you and me to get to be friends before Daed comes home from the hospital. To get you in shape would do us all good."

Tobias returned to his whistling as he held out one hand. Cracker Jack's ears went back. Not a good sign.

The rumbling of a vehicle engine sounded in the distance, getting louder and closer with the velocity of someone who knew the road well. Cracker Jack whirled and trotted back to his original feeding spot. Without turning his back on the animal, Tobias glanced toward the road. Mr. Cramer's dust-covered, once-white van rolled into the parking lot in front of the Glicks' building. It lurched to a stop by the corral gate. David emerged, his scruffy black duffel bag in one hand. Mr. Cramer raised a ma.s.sive hand in a wave, made a wide circle, and left, a cloud of dust hanging in the air behind him.

What was David doing back? Tobias back-stepped toward the gate, putting some s.p.a.ce between himself and the horse. He turned and strode to the fence. "What happened? How's Daed?"

"Ornery and a terrible patient." David dropped his bag on the ground, climbed up onto the fence, and wrapped his long, skinny legs around the top railing. "He sent me home. Mordecai refused to be cowed into submission. He's still there. Daed said it was crazy to spend all that money on a hotel room for no reason."

"When can he come home?"

"They've got him up, doing physical therapy like a hundred times a day. He doesn't like it much. I think he has a lot of pain, but he won't admit it."

"So no time soon?"

David shrugged. "If he has his way, he'll be home in a few days. Less if he throws a big enough fit." His gaze flitted over Tobias's shoulders. "What are you doing in there?"

"I'm working with the horse. He still has to be broken."

"That's my job."

"I can do it too."

"You never have."

"Things change." He would do this. Tobias would step into Daed's place. It was time. "You can have the next one."

More engine noise. A customer maybe. That would be good. Nary a single one had graced the door of their saddle shop since the day of Daed's accident. A sign on the road and another on the turnoff to the highway hadn't helped. A huge, shiny black pickup truck with chrome wheel covers that glinted in the sun pulled into the lot. Not a new customer. Bobbie.

"She came to the hospital. Did you know that?" David swiveled and heaved himself from the fence. "In Corpus, I mean. She drove all the way down there to make sure Daed was okay. Her father insisted on paying the bill."

"Mordecai let him?"

"He said a person who wants to make something right should be allowed to do so, especially when it's in the best interest of our meager emergency fund. Jeremiah and Will agreed."

"Did she see Daed?"

"She did. Stayed a couple of days."