Beneath The Texas Sky (16 page)

At the boarded-wall entrance, Bethanie slid only a few boards aside and slipped out. She heard shots, but they were close, near the house. Wild screams and shouts seemed to come from nowhere, as if carried on the breeze. She carefully stepped across the dirt floor and peered through the cracks in the wooden door.

“Where are the men?” Bethanie’s mind seemed to scream the words silently, vibrating her head with hideous echoes.

She searched the grounds as horses ran madly past and dust flew like a whirlwind in the bright sun. She could see one side of the barn as a fire seemed to explode in the dry hay. Suddenly, a half-nude warrior, thick with paint, jumped from his horse and ran toward the dugout. The sun sparkled off the long blade of a knife he waved above his head. Bethanie stood paralyzed by terror as she saw his wild eyes and the flash of victory written across his face.

Where were the men? She prayed, knowing that they would fire and halt the brave’s progress if they were alive.

Bethanie watched as the painted savage ran toward the dugout door. For a moment, her body seemed to be made of stone. Though her mind screamed for action, her muscles were incapable of following her command. The Indian slowed to signal a friend, and Bethanie suddenly took flight. She darted across the darkened half-cellar to the cave entrance. As the braves hammered against the door, Bethanie crawled behind the shelf. They might not have seen her, but it wouldn’t take them long to figure out that the door to the dugout had been bolted from the inside. She hastily pulled the boards into place, concealing the cave’s entrance, just as the intruders came hurling through the door.

Bethanie ran into the darkness of the cave, too frightened to care that the uneven rock edges were tearing her clothes. Gulping for breath, she reached the light of Ruth’s lantern. As she knelt beside her sleeping child, Bethanie whispered to Ruth, “They’re in the cellar.”

Ruth grabbed Bethanie’s arm, her eyes wild with fright. “They won’t find the cave.” Panic twisted the older woman’s normally calm face. “But if they do, you must promise me one thing.” She pulled the old Walker-Colt from her basket. “I was captured by Indians as a child. I saw what they did to the older women. Her hands were shaking as she handed Bethanie the gun. “Should
they find the cave, you must shoot me before they take me.”

“No!” Bethanie whispered as she heard the Indians rummaging in the cellar, already far too close.

“I beg you!” Ruth whimpered quietly. “Ben saved me years ago from them. I tried to kill myself later to keep from going crazy. Because I’m dark, everyone thought I was part Indian and treated me with the same disgust the Indians did.” Tears broke from her wide eyes and ran in zigzag patterns down her wrinkled cheeks. “Ben promised me he would shoot me rather than allow me to endure the hell of capture again. You are his wife; you must fulfill his promise.”

Bethanie could see Ruth was hysterical and incapable of reason. She must quiet the woman. Bethanie took the gun. “All right,” she comforted. “I won’t let them take you alive.” For Ruth the fear was over, and she seemed resigned to accept the ending.

Ruth breathed deeply and leaned back against the wall of the cave. She closed her eyes as if resting after a long journey.

Bethanie had no time to think of Ruth’s strange request, for she was too busy listening for any sound that might indicate the Indians had found the cave opening.

Time paused in long breaths as the women waited. Finally the noise in the cellar died down as the sound of gunfire returned. Bethanie’s heart jumped. Somehow the men were fighting once more. Could the lull have been to catch the Indians off guard? The memory of the burning barn pushed away any such logic, but hope still grew even on barren soil.

Seemingly an hour of low thundering gunfire passed. Mariah awoke, and Ruth pulled a snack for her from the basket as calmly as if they were on a picnic. Bethanie’s promise seemed to have eased Ruth, though it ripped at Bethanie’s nerves like metal against stone. She feared
her mind, or Ruth’s, might snap at any moment, and she would scream, giving away their hiding place.

The gunfire stopped abruptly with a final round. An instant later, Bethanie heard rummaging in the cellar once more. She lifted the gun from beside her and placed it on her legs. They heard the soft, scraping sound of the shelves being moved away from the cave opening.

“Remember your promise,” Ruth whispered.

Bethanie nodded, and turned the barrel of the revolver toward Ruth. With her free hand, she cradled Mariah’s head into her side and covered the child’s ear.

Ruth straightened and sat up tall, as one being honored.

“Bethanie!” a voice yelled from somewhere in the darkness. “Bethanie, are you there?”

A tidal wave of relief flooded over Bethanie. She laid down the gun and swept Mariah into her arms, then ran to the cave opening. She watched as the sun poured into the dusty storage cellar. Mike’s blond hair glowed like a halo in the light. Bethanie shoved past the boards. She stepped over the body of an Indian, biting her bottom lip in horror. She pulled Mariah close and ran toward Mike. In an instant she and Mariah were smothered in his embrace.

“Bethanie. Oh, Bethanie,” he cried. “We thought all of you were kidnapped. Thank God I remembered this cave.”

Bethanie was laughing and crying at the same time as she hugged Mariah to her. It was over. The nightmare was over. She turned to Ruth and smiled. There was a bond between them now. They’d shared an experience, an insight into each other that would never be spoken of, but would hold them together for life. Ruth smiled and nodded toward Bethanie as if to confirm her thoughts.

“The men?” Bethanie suddenly remembered. “Was anyone hurt?”

Pain shot through Mike’s blue eyes as if he’d been stabbed by her words. He grabbed her arm as she started to step away. “Bethanie, they all…”

She knew what he was going to say before the words formed. She wouldn’t have admitted it, but she felt it. When the first firing stopped and Indians surrounded the house, she knew. Ben wouldn’t have allowed them to enter the cellar if he had been alive.

“Ben!” Bethanie screamed as if she could call him back.

Ruth stepped beside her and took Mariah from her. Bethanie would have crumbled to the ground if Mike hadn’t pulled her to him. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “We were too late. I’m sorry.” Tears rolled down his tanned face. “We were so sure they’d never attack the big ranches.”

Bethanie didn’t want to hear the reasons. “No!” she screamed as she fought Mike with all her strength. “I must go to him.”

“No, Bethanie.” Mike couldn’t hold her. The sorrow in his face multiplied as he watched her. “It’s too late.”

“It’s not too late!” she cried as she bolted blindly from the dugout and ran toward the house.

The sun was bright in her face, and the smell of burning wood was thick in the air. Cowboys were everywhere, trying to put out small fires. Bethanie rushed past the bodies of Apache warriors in full war dress. Their rainbowpainted cheeks were now splattered with blood and dirt. Their dark, tanned faces bore no terror for her as they returned her look with dead stares, yet the sight of death vibrated around her in panic’s melody. She ran inside the house, pushing tears from her eyes as she hurried from room to room. The house looked as though a tornado-force wind had swept through, overturning everything. The lace
curtains across the dining-room windows were burning, charring the white wall. Bethanie turned away. She must find her husband.

Suddenly she saw Ben’s empty wheelchair blocking the front door. She’d seen the chair empty before, but only when Ben was by her side in bed. Bethanie ran onto the porch. She froze at the sight before her.

Ben’s body was roped spread-eagle between the two old elms, just off the porch. He was covered with blood, and his chin rested lifelessly against his chest.

“Ben!” Bethanie screamed until there was no air left in her lungs. She walked slowly toward him. As she stood only inches away, Bethanie put her arms about his neck, not caring that his blood soaked her dress. She placed her hands on either side of his bearded face and held him tenderly as though he were only asleep. “Ben, Ben,” she whispered. “I love you.”

As her heart melted in pain, she begged. “Ben, don’t leave me.”
He would hear her. He would come back to her. He was only asleep.
“Ben, don’t leave me now.”

She ran her fingers through his dark hair and smiled up at his sleeping eyes. “Ben, I love you,” she whispered again, realizing how tall her man was.

A firm hand tried to pull her away, but Bethanie would not move. She wanted to be in Ben’s arms, under his protection.

“Bethanie,” someone said behind her, but she didn’t want to hear. “We’ve got to cut him down,” the voice kept repeating.

She watched as a man cut the ropes binding Ben’s arms. As his body crumpled into the dirt, Bethanie fell with his weight. She cared nothing of the pain. She was still in Ben’s arms.

Tears flowed, blurring her vision as her heart failed to accept what her mind knew was true. She could see all the times Ben had showed his love. He always respected
her, always cherished her. Life couldn’t leave him now. Not when she needed him so. She would refuse to allow this twist of fate she was being given. She would turn away from reality, now and always.

Mike pulled at her shoulder. “Please, Bethanie,” he said, trying to lift her.

She wanted nothing from him or anyone. She wanted to be left alone with Ben.

A man yelled from the incline near the porch, “Mike, I think the boy’s still alive.”

Mike knelt close to Bethanie. “Help us with Dusty,” he whispered. “If anyone can save him, it’s you, Bethanie.”

For a moment she looked at Mike as if he were a stranger to her; then a wail inside Bethanie shattered the crystal dream she had retreated into. As she watched the men drag Dusty’s bloody body out from under the porch, reality hit in full force. She reached to kiss Ben’s lips one last time. “Good-bye, my husband, my love.” Then she turned and allowed Mike to help her up, forcing herself not to look back down at Ben.

Bethanie clung to Mike as men lifted Dusty’s body from the dirt. His face was covered with blood from a head wound, and dark red stained his shoulder and leg.

“Get him into the house,” Bethanie ordered. She followed, her face white with worry. If he were to live, much had to be done, and fast. The black gunpowder in the open wounds would kill him as surely as the bullets. She shoved her own grief into the corners of her mind. There would be time to mourn later.

Hours passed as Ruth and Bethanie nursed Dusty. His breathing was so weak, they thought they’d lost him several times. In all, five bullets were dug out of his flesh. Bethanie made an ointment to take the poison from his wounds. She was thankful to have something to occupy her thoughts and hands. Mariah stayed with the women
and spent hours holding Dusty’s limp hand. She finally curled up like a kitten on his covers and fell asleep.

After almost twenty hours of solid work, Dusty’s breathing returned to normal, and he rested comfortably., His normally tan face was ghostly pale from the loss of blood. Sandy blond hair crossed his forehead atop a white bandage. Bethanie covered his chest with one corner of a quilt and Mariah’s sleeping form at the foot of the bed with the other end.

Bethanie wandered into the large room and collapsed in a chair. Mike was working at Ben’s desk, and for a moment in her mind, she saw Ben.

“Are you all right?” Mike asked. They were the same words Ben had asked her so many times.

“Yes,” Bethanie answered, rubbing her palm back and forth across her forehead.

“I’ve been looking over Ben’s will. Did you know he left the ranch to Mariah and Dusty.”

“Yes,” Bethanie answered, disinterested. They’d decided after Mariah’s birth to set up the will that way.

“He left half a mine in Colorado to you with a note saying you’d know what to do,” Mike added.

Bethanie opened one eye. Ben hadn’t discussed the mine, but it seemed logical to her. She’d have to be the one to tell Josh of his brother’s death. She could give him the deed to the other half of the mine then.

“He also left a sizeable bank balance in your name,” Mike added.

Bethanie nodded. She really didn’t want to think of money now. Exhausted, she leaned her head against the high wingback of the chair. Pretending she was in Ben’s arms, she fell into a merciful sleep.

Dusty’s body lay lifeless, half covered with bandages. The black ointment made from herbs and hog-bone marrow stained the white cloth of each wound, but blood was no longer pouring from the ripped flesh. Bethanie’s hard work had paid off, for now; if his fever stayed down, Dusty would begin to heal. He’d lost so much blood in the past twenty-four hours, she knew any infection might yet take him beyond her care.

Mariah lay in a ball at the foot of Dusty’s covers. Her long black braid circled her sunny face, making her look even more angelic in sleep. She refused to leave the room. In her childish way, she was as worried about Dusty as the others. She’d lost Ben; now she wouldn’t leave Dusty lest he die. Bethanie smiled at Mariah’s reasoning. To be truthful, she was doing the same thing by refusing to leave his side even though several of the others had offered to sit with him.

Bethanie watched as Dusty’s brown eyes hesitantly opened. He looked around the room, confusion filling his young face. His mouth turned up in a hint of a smile as his gaze rested on Bethanie. “You’re safe,” he whispered hoarsely through dry lips. “And the squirrel?”

Bethanie nodded toward the foot of the bed. “She’s fine.” She could have guessed his first question would have been about Mariah.

Tears filled Dusty’s eyes, and he fought to blink them away. The Indian battle was returning to his mind, and the pain showed in his golden gaze. “Bethanie…I saw Ben die.” His voice was fighting childlike highness for control.

Bethanie knelt close and clasped his fingers. Their hands were almost the same size. She knew he must tell his story, or he would burst with pain inside.

“Bethanie,” Dusty’s grip tightened. “When the Indians starting trying to burn the house, Ben told me to get ready to run for cover under the porch. All the other men were dead or too near it to fire their guns. We waited for the last attack out on the porch, bold as you please. I heard Ben laugh as they started coming, like it was some kind of game he’d been waiting all his life to play.”

Dusty swallowed hard. “As I ducked under the porch, he said, ‘You’re quite a man, son.’ Then, just as they started firing again, I heard him say real low, ‘Take care of Mariah for me, will you?’”

Dusty fought for control. “I didn’t have time to answer. A bullet hit me in the leg, and I saw Ben slump forward with blood splattered all over his chest.” Tears bubbled down Dusty’s pale face. “I didn’t have time to swear I would take care of her.” His cries were coming in gulps of heartache only a child can feel. “I took another slug in the arm as I saw them drag Ben off the porch. He was already dead, but they started stringing him up.”

Bethanie brushed his forehead with her fingers. “Hush now, Dusty. Don’t talk anymore. You’ll be stronger tomorrow.” The boy could never know just how the knowledge that Ben was dead before they’d tied him to the trees was somehow a comfort to her.

“But I didn’t tell Ben!” Dusty cried, turning his face into his pillow. “I can take care of you both.”

Bethanie touched his sandy brown hair. “You didn’t
have to tell Ben. He knew you’d take care of Mariah. Just as he knew I’d be able to take care of myself.”

“He did?” Dusty rolled toward her, and pain tightened his face. His head wound made the slightest movement excruciating.

“Yes,” Bethanie smiled. “He knew. Now rest.”

Dusty nodded and closed his eyes. With a last squeeze of her hand, he fell asleep. Bethanie watched him turn an inch closer to a man. Mike would run the ranch for six more years; then Dusty would take over. It would have been Ben’s plan, and it would free Bethanie to do what she knew she must.

The weeks passed into summer, and Dusty’s wounds began to heal. His deep loss of Ben left its scar in the intensity of his golden brown eyes and the strong set of his jaw.

The warm Texas sun cast its morning light into her room as Bethanie stared at herself in the mirror. She knew, like Dusty, she would carry forever the grief of life without Ben. He’d been the rock she had grown to depend on, and now he was gone. She closed her mind to the pain, and as she had years ago under the porch of her aunt and uncle’s hotel, she made a decision she knew would alter her life.

The woman who looked back from the oval mirror now seemed strong and self-assured. Her charcoal dress, though it brought out the luster in her red hair, gave an air of authority to her presence. Her green eyes had lost the wonder of a young, frightened girl, and now they burned with the coldness of reality. Even her carriage was that of a confident woman who could face any hardship. Bethanie only wished she felt as strong inwardly. She lifted her chin in determination and walked from her bedroom.

Without detour, she moved out the front door. Mike was standing on the porch talking with a group of new
men he’d hired, both for the roundup and to protect the house. Bethanie knew any men who could pass Mike’s standards were fine additions to the hands. Mike seemed to have an eye for sizing up people. He’d been able to see more character in Allison than others had, and he’d been right. Once she’d married, Allison had settled into the role of a warm and gracious lady.

As Bethanie stepped beside him, Mike raised his voice in formal introduction. “I would like you men to meet Mrs. Weston, the boss.”

Bethanie nodded at the men. They were the usual assortment of cowhands that always seemed to appear near roundup time, except maybe for one large man near the back who looked a little out of place. He was cleaner than most cowhands, and the power in his shoulders seemed to tell of another kind of work besides ranching. But Bethanie knew it took all kinds to work a ranch this size. “Welcome to Weston Ranch, but I’m not your boss. Mike gives all the orders here.” She could almost feel the release of caged air escape the men’s lungs. They seemed relieved not to be taking orders from a woman, though she doubted any would have said so.

Bethanie turned to address Mike more than the men. “I’ll be leaving in a few days when the cattle go to Colorado.”

Mike’s reaction exploded across his face. He lowered his voice, but the men were quiet as tombstones. His words carried in the silent air like fluffy cottonwood seeds in a summer breeze. “Bethanie, you can’t mean this?”

“I’m going, Mike. Someone has to tell Josh about Ben, and I need time to get away and think.” She shoved any other reason she might have to the back of her mind. How could she tell Mike that sleeping in the bed she and Ben always shared was painful each night? How could she explain that she must see Josh, even though
her feelings were a blend of sorrow and caring with no small amount of fear mixed in?

“But it’s dangerous.” Mike’s eyes darted around the air above her head as if searching for some printed reason in the clouds to make her stay.

“And here is safe?” Bethanie questioned.

Mike couldn’t argue with a new widow about safety. The blood of her husband still stained the porch where they now stood. “I’ll go and tell Josh. We’ve been friends for years.”

“No.” Bethanie’s voice was low, but firm. “You’re needed here with Allison about due. A man should be near when his first child is born. I want her to move in so Ruth can take care of her and the baby. Please stay here at the house until I return.” She almost added, “
If
I return,” but there would be time for that later.

Mike ran his fingers through his sun-bleached hair in frustration. She knew he was out of reasons, but he was still not happy about her going. Before he could say more, one of the newly hired men stepped to the edge of the porch. Bethanie noticed he was’ the one she’d thought looked out of place when she had first walked out.

Bethanie turned her attention toward him, and to her amazement he drew away as if not wanting her to see him.

“Mr. Mike,” he asked in a voice blended with a slight northern spice. “May I talk with you for a moment?”

Mike nodded and moved off the porch. Bethanie watched as the huge stranger stepped once more out of her gaze.

She followed Mike down the steps, intrigued and a little angry at the big man’s action. As she stepped around Mike, her body went rigid at close sight of the stranger. He was tall and stone-solid in build. His hair was a white and sorrel blend that reminded Bethanie of the illogical
mixture of snow and burning coals. But it was the left side of his face that shocked her. From his eye to his jawline was a scar that looked as if someone had pushed a white-hot poker into his cheek. His skin was twisted and deformed into the ugliest mutilation she’d ever seen.

The stranger turned his horrid profile away from her, and she could see the sadness in his eyes that her gaping reaction had caused. She would guess him to be in his middle forties, and he had not yet lost any of his youthful strength.

“I’m sorry,” he began, not allowing Bethanie to see the scarred side of his face. “I had no wish to shock you, Mrs. Weston. I know I’m hell’s version of ugly.”

Bethanie sensed this man wanted no pity, so she tried to keep any trace from her voice. “I’m sorry to you, sir, for staring like an ill-mannered child.”

“No need for apologies. I do try to stay out of the way of fine ladies like yourself. People call me Cain. Not many forget my name or wonder why I seek the solitary life after taking a look at my face.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Cain. I hope you’ll be happy here.”

“Thank you kindly.” The stranger seemed satisfied with her comment. He shuffled uneasily. “I wanted Mr. Mike to ask for me, but I might as well do my own askin’ now.” He straightened to a wide stance of a seaman and not the loose stand of a cowboy. “I already told him when I was hired that I don’t know much about riding horses. But when I heard you talking about making a trip to Colorado, I thought of a way I could earn my keep. I’ve been there a few times, and I’m good with a team. I drove a freight wagon for Masters and his partners for a few years over by Raton Pass. I’d like to accompany you.”

Bethanie could use a strong man to drive the team.
She’d heard of Masters and his dependable wagons. “I’ve one question first,” she said thoughtfully.

Cain nodded with a frown as if he knew what was coming.

Bethanie remembered what Ben had told her once about every man in this country having a right to a few secrets. She would not ask Cain about his scar. “What’s a man who’s no good on a horse doing in Texas?”

Cain’s face lightened with a smile, and he turned to show her slightly more than his profile. “I’ve been about everything a man can be, I guess. I thought I’d try wrangler next, but to tell the truth, me and horses don’t seem to get along. I’ve been driving a supply wagon between Fort Worth and San Antonio for the past year. I’m sober and dependable; you can ask the freight company.”

Bethanie glanced at Mike, knowing he would have checked out any man he hired. Mike nodded, “That’s true. They couldn’t speak highly enough of Cain. They were sorry to see him go.”

Bethanie liked this man. There seemed an honesty about him. She knew she could look at him and not be troubled by the scar if he were a good man. “I’ll talk it over with Mike,” she promised, and offered her hand to Cain.

He seemed taken aback for a moment, as if he didn’t know what to do. Then, slowly he touched her fingers. His “thank you” was so low that she could barely hear him. Bethanie smiled and turned back toward the house.