Gingham Mountain (14 page)

“Is the gap melting down at all?” Grace thought her throat might shut up completely.

“Nope, sky-high and no getting out of it. It’s been too cold for a thaw.”

Grace stepped away from Daniel as if he were aiming a gun at her. She didn’t rest her hand on the baby in her belly because Daniel tended to run screaming when she made any reference or gesture that reminded him of the young one.

“So, how about the pass?” Grace twisted her hands together as if she were wringing a wet dishcloth. Or Daniel’s neck.

“The high pass, Ma?” Mark looked up from the fireplace. He and his brothers were thawing out after they’d ridden out to inspect the cattle. They’d be warm and back outside in a matter of minutes. Grace had a strange urge to beg them to stay inside and talk to her. She felt so alone, trapped, strangled, desperate.

Okay, calm down!

She pulled a long breath into her lungs. “Well, what would you boys like for dinner? I’ve got a mind to make a cake.”

The boys cheered and beamed at her. She had their undivided attention.

“We’re well stocked with honey and flour and eggs.”

She thought of the high pass. In fact, she thought she heard a voice whispering to her through the tall pines that lined the canyon. Calling her to come up, come over, go see Tillie or Sophie.

Go see Hannah.

That letter had been driving her close to mad, knowing Hannah was so near. She’d calculated that it would be a three-day train ride only. Simple.

She shook her head before she raced outside to follow that voice.

“Maybe one or two of you boys would like to stay in with me and help me mix the batter.”

A chorus of groans almost deafened her.

“You stay and help her. You’re a baby!” Mark shoved Matthew straight toward the fire. Matthew lurched to the side and toppled into Abe, who slugged him. Matt did a sideways dive that would have made a circus acrobat proud then fell over backward into Mark, who screamed as if he’d had an arm severed.

The whispering outside grew louder. Grace smiled. She felt almost insanely calm as she decided it was wrong of her to be the only one in control of herself in this family. Why, it was almost a sin. If she really loved her boys and Daniel, she’d be out of control, too. It was the right thing to do.

Her smile fixed firmly. “I need some fresh air.”

Grace snagged her coat and boots as she dashed outside. No one noticed her leave, being involved in a riot as they were. A foot, or maybe a body, slammed into the door just as she swung it shut.

She slipped on the boots then pulled on her coat as she started walking toward the high-up hill. She didn’t bother catching up a horse.
It was only a mile or so.

Then she got to the part that was mostly straight up, with icy ledges and treacherous toe holds buried in snow. She should probably wait for a thaw, but that thought didn’t even slow her down. She reached the first clump of trees and began singing as if the trees were a chorus of angels and she was lead soprano.

Daniel didn’t catch her until she was up and over and within a mile of Adam and Tillie’s house. He grabbed her arm. “What in the world are you doing, woman?”

Grace’s ears had quit playing with her mind—or was her mind playing with her ears—as soon as she’d topped the high pass. She turned and smiled at her husband, not wanting to punch him at all. “I believe I mentioned that I’d like to get out and see Sophie once or twice this winter. Being snowed in is a bit—” Grace quit talking before she told him the truth. That it was possible she was losing her sanity. That it was possible she’d start screaming or maybe beating on him while he slept. She rubbed the back of her neck while she stood there facing her husband.

He pulled his hat off his head. The wind whipped through his overlong blond hair, and Grace tried to remember the last time she’d made him sit for a haircut. She’d thought of it a few times, but her hand had gotten a bit shaky at the thought of standing behind Daniel’s back with a sharp object. She brushed her hand over his hair.

“Grace, I’ve got chores.”

“I’m over the treacherous part, Daniel. You should have just gone on back to your chores and not worried about me.”

Grace saw Abe, a mile or so behind them, dropping down the cliff with reckless speed. She didn’t even cringe when she saw Matt strapped on Abe’s back. They’d be fine.

“No, it’s a long walk to Adam’s. There’re dangerous animals out here, Grace. What kind of husband would I be if I didn’t protect my family?”

With a loud snap, a branch Abe was using for support broke. Her
oldest son fell forward and slid on his belly the rest of the way down the cliff. Matt screamed and laughed and slid for about a hundred feet as if he was on a sled and Abe had fallen specially, just to make the trip fun.

Daniel glanced backward but didn’t react. Fine job he was doing protecting any of them.

“Uh, Daniel, the whole bunch of us Reeves seem to have a knack for survival. I think I’ll be okay.”

“The boys are sturdy enough, but wives are puny, sickly things, and I think I’d better stay close.”

Mark topped the canyon wall.

Grace felt her lower lip begin to tremble. “So, are all the boys coming?”

Daniel settled his Stetson more firmly on his head. “Once we figured out you’d cleared the canyon rim, I sent ’em back to do the chores and told ’em to come on along once they were ready.”

Abe picked himself up, and Matthew shrieked and kicked his brother’s sides and yelled, “Giddup!”

John’s head popped up atop the rocks.

“Let’s go then.” She turned and strode toward Adam’s, planning to make a better headstart for herself next time. Maybe if she snuck out in the night—

“You know there are mountain lions in these parts. It shore were a stupid idea for you to set out on your own.” Daniel fell into step beside her and rested an arm along her shoulders.

Grace nodded. “Not the first stupid thing I’ve done.” She gave him a significant look, but he smiled and didn’t seem to get the hint that
he
might qualify.

“Reckon that’s true enough.” He pursed his lips and pulled her a bit closer. “And reckon it won’t be the last.”

Grace picked up the pace, but the boys still caught them before she was even close to Tillie. Somehow she didn’t mind. Now that she was going visiting, she liked having her family along.

When Adam’s neat cabin came into sight, Adam was outside tending his livestock and he straightened and waved. He was too far away from them for Grace to see his face, but she could imagine his pleasure at having company.

Adam, a black man who was good friends to the Reeves and a right hand man to the McClellens before he started his own ranch, waved again, then walked briskly toward the house, telling Tillie the good news no doubt. By the time Adam vanished inside, the boys had whooped at the sight of their friend and started racing toward the house.

Grace made only the barest notice of Adam stepping outside and shuttering the windows. He’d barely closed one when Mark sent a branch he’d been using as a walking stick straight at Ike’s head. It missed Ike and slammed up against the shutter.

Adam finished securing the shutters and turned to face them. “Well, hello there, neighbors. Didn’t figure to see you again until spring.”

Tillie came outside, and Grace saw that Tillie’s stomach got out the door well ahead of her.

“You’re expecting a baby?” Grace gasped and ran toward Tillie.

Bright white teeth flashed in Tillie’s dark-skinned face as she laid one hand on her belly. “Yes, I am. We haven’t been to town in a spell, and of course Adam never thinks to mention it, so the word is just now getting out.”

“I’m so glad to s–see you.” Her voice broke and she launched herself into Tillie’s arms.

Tillie hugged Grace closer. Tillie was enough older than Grace that Grace almost felt mothered. Tillie turned, Grace still in her arms, and walked with her toward the cabin. “I’ll make us a nice cup of tea.”

Abe opened the cabin door.

“Hey!”

Adam’s voice startled Grace. She noticed the boys stopped in their tracks to look at him.

Once he had the boys’ attention, he said, “Uh. . .sorry, didn’t mean
to yell. Uh. . .I was just thinking, I could saddle you boys each a horse, and we could ride out to look at my herd. We could let the women have an hour or so of hen talk.”

Grace thought Adam seemed on edge, but she could imagine why.

The boys whooped and charged toward the barn.

Tillie dragged Grace inside and shut the door quick. She settled Grace at the table then reached up to a padlocked cupboard and opened it to pull out a heavy pottery coffee cup.

“Why do you keep it locked? No one would steal glassware.”

Tillie bustled about filling the kettle with tea. “Uh. . .
Adam
has on occasion been known to break a bit of glass. Clumsy men, you know.”

“Oh my, do I ever know.”

Tillie came and sat down straight across from Grace. “So, tell me what brings you here.”

Grace felt like wings sprung straight out of her heart. These were the exact words she wanted to hear from some woman, any woman. Maybe she wouldn’t have to go all the way to Hannah’s after all. Not on
this
visit.

H
orace sneaked out of Prudence’s house before first light. He didn’t like getting up early, he didn’t like hard labor, and he didn’t like Prudence being a stand-up citizen while he went slinking around in the dark alleys like a rat. He was sick of it all. This plan needed to work, and soon.

He slipped out of town on foot. He’d left his horse nearly two miles away. Horace chained it overnight in a stand of scrub pines. The horse didn’t like it, but the nag had all day to graze.

After the long trudge in the cold, Horace rode the rest of the way to the oil seep. The closer he got, the worse the stink. He had to fill another couple of barrels today if he wanted to keep up the rent on Prudence’s store, but he couldn’t stand it so early in the morning.

He got to his work site, tucked into a canyon behind the Rocking C—this whole area was Grant’s property. Knowing he should go straight to work, instead he veered his horse toward the rocky game trail that led to the top of the bluff surrounding the reeking, oily waters of the spring. The sun was up enough to look down on the world.

He reached the top and saw, a mile away, the shack full of children ruining his plans. He saw Grant emerge from the hovel and head for the barn. Two of his boys tagged him, a familiar little boy that looked barely school age and a new one, a skinny blond Horace had never seen before.

Where was the bigger boy? Horace sneered at a man taking in one of
that
kind. Grant was trash and his whole family was trash.

The black-skinned boy, more man than child, was always along with Grant. Working as if he’d never been freed from slavery. Of course Grant worked like that, too. Fools, when there was a living to be had on other men’s sweat. Horace could only feel contempt for the mess of a family.

Horace climbed down off his horse, chained the beast up good and tight, and walked to a better spot where a steep, rugged trail led down the bluff on the Rocking C side. Horace had never gone down. No sense leaving a track for anyone in that family to find. The whole bunch of them ran wild in these hills, but the smell of this area and the rancid water kept them and their herd away from this black spring.

As he neared the overlook, Horace heard rustling just over the rim. He ducked behind a boulder. Deer most likely, but no sense being caught by surprise.

The black boy topped the trail. Prudence had found out about the family. This one’s name was Joshua. The boy crawled up the last sheer stretch using finger and toe holds.

Horace watched and knew the instant Joshua’d seen the horse. The boy scrambled to the top and took a step forward. Horace’s hand closed over the butt of his revolver. The boy walked toward the nag. He’d go straight past Horace.

Joshua stepped alongside Horace’s hiding place. Horace lunged and smashed the gun over the boy’s head. The dull thud was satisfying. The boy staggered backward. A trail of blood gushed down the side of his face, the red vivid against Joshua’s dark skin. His dazed eyes fixed on Horace and focused.

The boy had seen his face. Glad for an excuse to dispense more pain, Horace realized he couldn’t let a witness go.

Horace lunged to grab Joshua, but his fingers slipped on the slick, blood-soaked shirt. Instead of catching hold, Horace shoved him
backward, and the boy reeled over the edge of the cliff.

Horace dashed to the drop-off and watched the body tumble and bounce. It slid nearly a hundred feet then landed in a thicket of mesquite. Horace didn’t like the way the boy had landed—flat on his back and with that thicket breaking his fall. The impact wasn’t hard.

With a long look at the climb, Horace dismissed going down. He took careful aim with his revolver. It was a long shot, and Horace wasn’t the best marksman. He liked living by his wits, not his gun. Besides, he didn’t want to shoot. A gunshot would draw attention. And a bullet hole in the trash at the bottom of this cliff would be proof positive this wasn’t an accident.

In the growing sunlight, Horace eased off the trigger and watched the still form. Blood coated the boy’s face and shirt. Seconds ticked past, then minutes with no movement, not even the rise and fall of the boy’s chest. Finally, with a satisfied grunt, Horace decided the job was done better if there was no gunshot, no bullet to explain.

A boy, playing, taking a fall. No reason anyone would question things. If there was any blame it would land on Grant. Any father worth his salt would make sure his young’uns stayed well away from this area.

“What were you doing up here anyway, kid?” Horace asked the motionless young man.

Horace’d best not be in the vicinity if they came hunting the boy. He had most of a load of barrels. He’d planned to finish filling the wagon before he took them in, but now it seemed like a good day for a ride to LaMont.

A movement caught his eye. Horace looked overhead and smiled. A vulture.