Conor's Way Read Free

she could offer was room and board,
and that didn't make for much of an incentive. What few able-bodied
men there were around Callersville could work at the sawmill for
real wages or tenant farm for themselves.
    A drop of rain hit the back of her hand,
darkening the worn brown leather of her glove. Another drop fell,
then another. Olivia glanced up at the heavy, gunmetal gray clouds
overhead, and she wondered if she ought to turn back. It had rained
during the night, and the road was already muddy. She might make it
to town, but if another storm came down now, Cally would never be
able to get her home.
    Her trip was probably futile anyway. Stan had
told her last time she was in town that she could no longer buy at
the store on account, and she doubted asking again would accomplish
much.
    Olivia caught her lower lip between her teeth
and stared at the rutted, curving road ahead. Times had been hard
ever since the war, but since Nate's death the previous summer,
times had gotten even harder. Nate had been old, cranky, and not
always reliable, but he'd been strong for his age, handy with a
hammer, and staunchly loyal. He'd also been there to help her bring
in the harvest.
    She had three girls to raise, hogs and
chickens to tend, peaches to harvest come September, and there
weren't enough hours in the day to manage everything by herself.
Until Nate's death, she hadn't realized how dependent she'd become
on the old farmhand or how much she would miss him.
    She thought of her girls and wondered how she
was going to provide for them if she couldn't get her peach crop to
market. Perhaps she should never have taken them in when their
parents died in '65. Perhaps they'd have been better off going to
the orphanage if she couldn't take care of them properly.
    All the burdens suddenly seemed so heavy, and
Olivia felt much older than her twenty-nine years. "Lord," she
murmured, "I could really use some help down here."
    As if in reply, the rain began to pour down,
and Olivia sighed. "I guess not."
    She hunched forward on the seat and pulled
her broad-brimmed straw hat down lower over her eyes. It wasn't
much to ask for, really. Just one man to help, a man who didn't
mind hard work and didn't expect to get paid for it.
    Olivia pulled on the reins slightly, guiding
Cally around the sharp bend in the road. As the wagon rounded the
curve, she noticed something lying directly in her path about two
dozen feet ahead. She jerked hard on the reins, bringing Cally to a
stop, and stared between the mule's ears at the man who lay
sprawled in the middle of the road.
    She should probably just turn around right
here and head home. There were always nasty characters wandering
the roads these days—had been ever since the war. Olivia toyed with
the reins in her fingers, uncertain what to do. She was alone, and
the man was a stranger.
    Still, he didn't look like much of a threat
just lying there like that. Keeping her gaze fixed on him, Olivia
climbed down from the wagon. She hitched her faded brown skirt up
enough to keep the hem out of the mud as she moved closer.
    It was kind of hard to tell what he looked
like, but Olivia knew he wasn't from around Callersville. His short
hair was black, but caked with mud. His face was lean and
clean-shaven, but swollen and darkened by purple bruises. There was
a deep gash above his eye, and another on his chin. His clothes
were torn and muddy. He didn't move as she came cautiously closer,
and she wondered if he was dead.
    But as she hunkered down beside him, she saw
the rise and fall of his chest. No, he wasn't dead. At least, not
yet.
    She stood up and glanced around, but she saw
nothing that might explain what this man was doing out here in
this sorry condition. He was alone and didn't appear to have any
belongings with him.
    Suddenly he groaned, and she realized he must
be in a great deal of pain. She couldn't just leave him here. If
she could get him into the wagon somehow, she could take him back
to the