One had to trek a long way from the main trail to find the entrance to the holler, and then it was another mile or so in before you came across his cabin. The building was nearly hidden among the trees and overgrown grasses and bush. One would never know that just another forty feet behind the building was the most magnificent clearing surrounded on all sides by woods. The meadow was gorgeous and Lotty had loved it. Luther had transplanted every kind of wildflower they found in the woods that she fell in love with, into the meadow, just for her.
She had a garden there that he had built a fence around to protect from the deer. He claimed he thought it silly, but she loved it, so she got it. Whatever Lotty wanted, she got, and in return, she spoiled Luther as best she could. She painstakingly patched every hole in his clothing and mended every sock. She bartered for skins so she could make him shoes and vests and jackets. She knitted blankets and crocheted lacy curtains.
Their little cabin was cozy and had little feminine touches meant to give Luther a sense of being cared for. There wasn’t a time when he came home, even if he’d been gone for a while, that there wasn’t a cooking pot on the fire. She massaged his feet for him, especially in the winter when he went out hunting, and warmed his hands the moment he came in. Lotty had been as devoted to Luther as he was to her.
Early on, when Rubin first came back home to visit, checking up on the couple, bringing them rabbits to put in the stewpot, Luther had yarn stretched between his hands while she knitted him a sweater. He glared at Rubin, daring him to say something, but Rubin took notice that a man should treat his woman good that way. Lotty always seemed happy. Rubin liked Gunthrie a lot, in spite of the man being a bit rascally at times.
Diego and Rubin stayed above the homestead, studying every inch of it, looking for signs of life. There weren’t any high ridges to get over it, so they both had chosen one of the taller trees. Still, they needed a broader scope than what they were seeing. Both were tired. They’d been too long without sleep, but after running all night, they’d definitely gotten to the meadow before the soldiers who had taken Jonquille prisoner—if they had guessed the destination correctly.
Tired could equal mistakes, and getting Jonquille back was their first priority. That meant no mistakes could be made. The meadow looked as if it hadn’t been touched. The flowers were in bloom. There were no holes or bare spots to indicate that anyone had been digging to try to smooth the meadow to prepare it for a plane to land.
Rubin’s heart sank. Had he guessed wrong? He rubbed his jaw. The stubble there was beginning to get heavier. Each of those hairs was embedded in nerve endings, and those nerve endings helped to identify everything around him. He could find no evidence of the squirrel men. That didn’t mean much. He hadn’t been able to locate them when they had been secreted in the woods waiting to abduct Jonquille.
There’s no sign of Gunthrie in his cabin, Diego said. He’s an early riser. He’d be up, moving around by now.
Rubin was very aware of that. No matter his age, Gunthrie didn’t believe in staying in bed. Even on days when he claimed his bones ached, he said it was better to get up and move around, which was right. Gunthrie chose to sleep on a woven mat on the floor. After Lotty passed away, Gunthrie burned their bed, the one he’d carved for her. He’d hauled the mattress all the way from where the neighboring farm brought it on the back of their truck and left it by the entrance to the holler. He’d burned that mattress as well.
Others might not have understood, but Rubin did. That kind of gut-wrenching loss did things to you. Stayed with you and twisted you up inside. He knew why Gunthrie chose to live out his life alone in the backwoods, barely seeing anyone else. It hurt to lose the people you loved. It hurt to be afraid all the time that you were going to lose more.
Rubin was aware he held on to Diego too tightly, as he did Ezekiel, Mordichai, Malichai and now Jonquille. The squirrel men had made a mistake when they’d taken Jonquille. The healer in him, usually at the forefront, had been pushed far back and the predator was fully unleashed.
Do you think I was wrong? This was the only place they could possibly land a plane. It’s possible they aren’t going to fly her out. Another method of transport?