This Brokken Road by Lynda Cox & Abagail Eldan

Author:Lynda Cox & Abagail Eldan [Cox, Lynda]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: historical western, romance, historical western romance
Publisher: Sheila Hollinghead
Published: 2018-09-19T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Five

On a small rise, Deborah Brokken stopped to view the town, but it held little interest. Instead, the clearing itself held her attention. A tree’s gnarled roots grabbed the ground, digging fingers into the damp soil, as if savoring the water before it evaporated away. Green moss and algae sprinkled its bark, like an old woman desperately trying to hide age spots with an overabundance of rice powder.

Winter held February loosely in its grasp, and the cool wind soothed her. When peace prevailed, she spread her handkerchief on a damp log, settled on it, and propped her elbows on her knees. Why had the sheriff sent a message by Calvin to meet her at the Brokken Bank?

At that moment, in the stillness, the tantalizing scent of an orange came to her. It intensified a craving.

Every Christmas her father had managed to bring home a sack filled with oranges, and he presented one to each of his four children. Her brothers peeled theirs quickly, devouring the slices two or three at a time. Not her. Without a word, she handed her orange to her father. He’d give her a wink, and then roll the orange back and forth on the table, to soften it, to release the sweet juices. And then he’d take his ivory-handled pocket knife and carve a hole in the fruit. She still remembered his smile when he handed it to her, a smile she’d not seen for six long years, since she was thirteen.

The last orange had been before the War, before her father left with her oldest brother Curt. Her other two brothers, Karl and Fritz, followed a year or so later. Of course, she’d stayed behind with her grandparents and Isaac Iverson, the foreman of the ranch.

It wasn’t much of a ranch now. Her grandparents moved from Boston after her mother had died, to care for her. They need not have bothered. Isaac was the constant in her life. He’d been the only one who could rock her to sleep, who could help ease her colic as a baby. She’d been a difficult child, she’d been told more than once, until Isaac’s patience worked wonders. She giggled. Or so everyone thought.

And even though she grew up motherless, life had been good before the War. She had her father, who doted on her, her three older brothers, who teased her endlessly and protected her fiercely, her maternal grandparents, who tolerated her, and Isaac.

Her father had been busy with the bank he’d established, with the General Store he owned. He loved her, brought her oranges, but Isaac was more of a father, although his skin was dark. Her attachment to him never wavered. His wisdom guided her, and his laughter sustained her through the bad times.

Franklin Brokken had been killed in battle, and she’d suffered an even greater loss, her brothers. They’d returned, but with empty eyes that looked beyond her to some far-off battlefield.

She shook her head. No. Something remained, something as intangible as the craving for an orange.

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